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"Knickerbocker Bottion 



Reviews and Miscellanies 



BY 

WASHINGTON IRVING 




G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 



^ 



r\\ 







*\ 



Copyright, 1897 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 



Ube "fcnlcherbocfeer press 

NEW ROCHELLE, NEW YORK 



REVIEWS AND MISCELLANIES 



fmtcfeerbocfter JE&ition 




Contents. 



REVIEWS AND MISCELLANIES. 

PAGE 

Robert Treat Paine 3 

Edwin C. Hoeeand 33 

Wheaton's History of the Northmen . 52 

Conquest of Granxda 106 

Letter to the Editor of "The Knicker- 
bocker" 160 

Seeepy Hoeeow .172 

Nationae Nomenceature . . . .192 
Desultory Thoughts on Criticism . . 202 

Communipaw 210 

Conspiracy of the Cocked Hats . . . 224 

Letter from Granada 235 

The Catskiee Mountains . . . .247 

STORIES AND LEGENDS. 

The Early Experiences of Raeph Ring- 
wood 261 

v * 



Contents 



The Seminoees 31; 

Origin of the White, the Red, and the Black 
Men . . . . . 

The Conspiracy of Neamathla 
The Count Van Horn 
Don Juan : A Spectrae Research . 
Legend of the Engulphed Convent 
The Phantom Iseand 

The Adalantado of the Seven Cities 



324 
32c 
34i 
364 
380 
389 
394 




IRewews anb fllMscellaniee, 



[The first part of this volume consists of Reviews, articles from 
the Knickerbocker Magazine, and the Kaatskill Mountains, a 
contribution to Putnam's Home-Book of the Picturesque, pub- 
lished in 1850. 

The Reviews of the works of Robert Treat Paine, and the 
Poems of Edwin C. Holland, are drawn from the Analectic 
Magazine during the period of Mr. living's editorship. The 
notice of Wheaton's History of the Northmen appeared in 
the North American in 1832. The review of the Chronicle 
of the Conquest of Granada, a work emanating from Wash- 
ington Irving, but purporting to come from the pen of Fray 
Antonio Agapida, an imaginary personage, was furnished to 
the London Quarterly, a long time after its publication, at 
the instance of Murray, his publisher, who "thought the na- 
ture of the work was not sufficiently understood, and that it 
was considered rather as a work of fiction than one substantially 
of historic fact." It is needless to add that it is in no sense a 
laudatory review, but simply explanatory of the historical foun- 
dation of a work in which he had somewhat mystified the 
reader by the use of his monkish sobriquet. 

The articles reproduced from the Knickerbocker date mainly 
from the year 1839. A majority of Mr. Irving's contributions 
to that magazine, during the two years he was engaged in 
writing for it have been incorporated in WolferVs Roost.— Ed.] 



REVIEWS AND MISCELLANIES. 



IRobert TTreat paine. 

The Works, in Verse and Prose, of the late Robert 
Treat Paine, Jun., Esq., with Notes. To which are 
prefixed Sketches of his L4fe, Character, and Writ- 
ings. 8vo., pp. 464. Belcher, Boston, 181 2. 

IN reviewing the work before us, criticism is 
deprived of half its utility. However j ust 
may be its decisions, they can be of no 
avail to the author. With him the fitful 
scene of literary life is over ; praise can stimulate 
him to no new exertions, nor censure point the 
way to future improvement. The only benefit, 
therefore, to be derived from an examination 
of his merits, is to deduce therefrom instruction 
for his survivors, either as to the excellences they 
should imitate, or the errors they should avoid. 
There is no country to which practical criti- 
cism is of more importance than this, owing to 
3 



4 IRevuews and rtlbtecellanfes 

the crude state of native talent, and the imma- 
turity of public taste. We are prone to all the 
vices of literature, from the casual and super- 
ficial manner in which we attend to it. Ab- 
sorbed in politics, or occupied by business, few 
can find leisure, amid these strong agitations 
of the mind, to follow the gentler pursuits of 
literature, and give it that calm study and 
meditative contemplation necessary to discover 
the true principles of beauty and excellence in 
composition. To render criticism, therefore, 
more impressive, and to bring it home, as it were, 
to our own bosoms, it is not sufficient merely 
to point to those standard writers of Great 
Britain who should form our real models, but 
it is important to take those writers among our- 
selves who have attained celebrity, and scruti- 
nize their characters. Authors are apt to catch 
and borrow the faults and beauties of neighbor- 
ing authors, rather than of those removed by 
time or distance ; as a man is more apt to fall 
into the vices and peculiarities of those around 
him, than to form himself on the models of 
Roman or Grecian virtue. 

This is apparent even in Great Britain, 
where, with all the advantages of finished edu- 
cation, literary society, and critical tribunals, 
we see her authors continually wandering 
away into some new and corrupt fashion of 



IRobert Great fl>aine 5 

writing, rather than conforming to those orders 
of composition which have the sanction of time 
and criticism. If such be the case in Great Brit- 
ain, and if even her veteran literati have still 
the need of rigorous criticism to keep them 
from running riot, how much more necessary 
is it in our country, where our literary ranks, 
like those of our military, are rude, undici- 
plined, and insubordinate. It is for these 
reasons that we presume with freedom, but, 
we trust, with candor, to examine the relics of 
an American poet, to do justice to his merits, 
but to point out his errors, as far as our judg- 
ment will allow, for the benefit of his contem- 
poraries. 

The volume before us commences with a 
biography of the author, written by two sev- 
eral hands. The style is occasionally over- 
wrought, and swelling beyond the simplicity 
proper to this species of writing, but on the 
whole creditable to the writers. The spirit in 
which it is written is both friendly and candid. 
We cannot but admire the generous struggle 
between tenderness for the author's memory 
and a laudable determination to tell the whole 
truth, which occurs whenever the failings of 
the poet are adverted to. We applaud the 
frankness and delicacy with which the latter 
are avowed. If biography have any merit, it 



6 IReviews and Miscellanies 

consists in presenting a faithful picture of the 
character, the habits, the whole course of living 
and thinking of the person who is the subject 
— for, otherwise, we may as well have a ro- 
mance, and an ideal hero imposed on us, for 
our wonder and admiration. 

The biography of Mr. Paine presents another 
of those melancholy details, too commonly 
furnished by literary life, — those gleams of 
sunshine, and days of darkness ; those mo- 
ments of rapture, and periods of lingering de- 
pression ; those dreams of hope, and waking 
hours of black despondency. Such is the 
rapid round of transient joys and frequent 
sufferings that form the ' ' be all and the end 
all here," of the unlucky tribe that live by 
writing. Surety, if the young imagination 
could ever be repressed by sad example, these 
gloomy narratives would be sufficient to deter 
it from venturing into the fairy land of litera- 
ture — a region so precarious in its enjoyments 
and fruitful in its calamities. 

We find that Mr. Paine started on his career 
full of ardor and confidence. His collegiate 
life was gay and brilliant. His poetic talents 
had already broken forth, and acquired him the 
intoxicating but dangerous meed of early praise. 
The description given of him by his biographer, 
at this time, is extremely prepossessing. 



IRobert £rcat fl>afne 7 

11 He was graduated with the esteem of the govern- 
ment and the regard of his contemporaries. He was 
as much distinguished for the opening virtues of his 
heart, as for the vivacity of his wit, the vigor of his 
imagination, and the variety of his knowledge. A 
liberality of sentiment and a contempt of selfishness 
are concomitants, and in him were striking character- 
istics. Urbanity of manners and a delicacy of feeling 
imparted a charm to his benignant temper and social 
disposition." 

After leaving college, we begin to perceive 
the misfortunes which his early display of 
talents had entailed upon him. He had tasted 
the sweets of literary triumph, and, as it is not 
the character of genius to rest satisfied with 
past achievements, he longed to add fresh 
laurels to those he had acquired. With this 
strong inclination towards a literary life, we 
behold him painfully endeavoring to accustom 
himself to mercantile pursuits, and harness his 
mind to the diurnal drudgery of a counting- 
house. The result was such as might natur- 
ally be expected. He neglected the monoto- 
nous pages of the journal and the ledger, for 
the magic numbers of Homer and Horace. 
His fancy, stimulated by restraint, repeatedly 
flashed forth in productions that attracted 
applause ; he was more frequently found at the 
theatre than on 'change ; delighted more in the 
society of scholars and men of taste and fancy, 



8 IRev.ews and /llMecellantes 

than of "substantial merchants," and at 
length abandoned the patient but comfortable 
realities of trade, for the splendid uncertainties 
of the Muse. 

Our limits will not permit us to go into a 
minute examination of his life, which would 
otherwise be worthy of attention ; for the 
habits and fortunes of an author, in this coun- 
try, might yield some food for curious specula- 
tion. Unfitted for business, in a nation where 
every one is busy ; devoted to literature, where 
literary leisure is confounded with idleness ; the 
man of letters is almost an insulated being, 
with few to understand, less to value, and 
scarcely any to encourage his pursuits. It is 
not surprising, therefore, that our authors soon 
grow weary of a race which they have to run 
alone, and turn their attention to other callings 
of a more worldly and profitable nature. This 
is one of the reasons why the writers of this 
country so seldom attain to excellence. Before 
their genius is disciplined, and their taste re- 
fined, their talents are diverted into the ordi- 
nary channels of busy life, and occupied in what 
are considered its more useful purposes. In 
fact, the great demand for rough talent, as for 
common manual labor, in this country, prevents 
the appropriation of either mental or physical 
forces to elegant employments. The delicate 



IRobert (Treat jpaine 9 

mechanician may toil in penury, unless he 
devote himself to common manufactures, suit- 
able to the ordinary consumption of the country ; 
and the fine writer, if he depend upon his pen 
for a subsistence, will soon discover that he 
may starve on the very summit of Parnassus, 
while he sees herds of newspaper editors bat- 
tening on the rank marshes of its borders. 

Such is most likely to be the fate of authors 
by profession, in the present circumstances of 
our country. But Mr. Paine had certainly 
nothing of the kind to complain of. His early 
prospects were extremely flattering. His pro- 
duction met with a local circulation, and the 
poet with a degree of attention and respect 
highly creditable to the intelligent part of the 
Union where he resided. 

"The qualities," says his biographer, "which had 
secured him esteem at the university were daily ex- 
panding, and his reputation was daily increasing. 
His society was eagerly sought in the most polished 
and refined circles ; he administered compliments 
with great address ; and no beau was ever a greater 
favorite in the beau monde!" 

Having now confided to his pen for a sup- 
port, Mr. Paine undertook the editorship of a 
semi-weekly paper, devoted to Federal politics. 
It was conducted without diligence, and, if we 



IReviews ant> dlMscellanies 



may judge from the effects, without discretion ; 
for it drew upon him the vengeance of a mob, 
which attacked the house where he resided, 
and the resentment of a young gentleman 
whose father he had satirized. This youth, 
with an impetuosity hallowed by his filial feel- 
ing, demanded honorable satisfaction — it was 
denied, and the consequence was, that, in a 
casual rencounter, he took it, in a more de- 
grading manner, on the person of Mr. Paine. 
This was a deadly blow to the reputation 
of our author ; and his standing in society 
was still more impaired by his subsequent 
marriage with an actress, which produced a 
rupture with his father and a desertion by 
the fashionable world. This last is mentioned 
in terms of useless reprehension by his biog- 
rapher. It is idle to rail at society for its laws 
of rank and gradations of respect. These 
rise, of themselves, out of the nature of things, 
and the moral and political circumstances in 
which that society is placed ; and the universal 
acquiescence in them by the soundest minds 
is a sufficient proof that they are salutary and 
correct. Mr. Paine should have foreseen the 
inevitable consequences of his union, in a 
society so rigid and religious, and where the- 
atrical exhibitions had been considered so 
improper as for a long time to have been pro- 






IRobert Great fl>aine n 



hibited by law. Having foreseen the conse- 
quences, and willingly encountered them, it 
would have been a proof of his firmness and 
good sense to have submitted to them without 
repining. 

Unfortunately, Mr. Paine seems to have 
been deficient in that true kind of pride, which 
draws its support from the ample sources of 
conscious worth and integrity ; which bears 
up its possessor against unmerited neglect, 
and induces him to persist in doing well, 
though certain of no approbation but his own. 
The moment the world neglected him, he 
began to neglect himself, as if he had there- 
tofore acted right from the love of praise, 
rather than the love of virtue. 

He contracted habits of intemperance, 
which, added to his natural heedlessness and 
want of application, rendered all the remain- 
der of his life a scene of vicissitude. His 
newspaper establishment, from want of his 
personal attention, proved unfortunate ; at the 
end of eighteen months he disposed of it, and 
became master of ceremonies of the Boston 
Theatre, — an anomalous office which we do 
not understand, but which for a time produced 
him a present means of subsistence. Not- 
withstanding the irregularity of his habits, 
it seems that he never exerted his talents with- 



12 IReviews anfc Miscellanies 

out ample success. He was occasionally called 
on for orations, odes, songs, and addresses, 
which not only met with public applause, but 
with a pecuniary remuneration that is worthy 
of being recorded in our literary history. For 
his " Invention of Letters," a poem of about 
three hundred lines, we are told he received 
fifteen hundred dollars, exclusive of expense ; 
and twelve hundred by the sale of his ' ' Ruling 
Passion," a poem of about the same length. 
The political song of ' ' Adams and Liberty ' ' 
produced him also a profit of seven hundred and 
fifty dollars. These are sevenfold harvests, 
that have rarely been equalled even in the 
productive countries of Europe. 

After a few years passed in this manner, 
having in some measure reformed his habits, 
his friends began to entertain hopes of rescu- 
ing him from this precarious mode of subsist- 
ence. They urged him to study the law, and 
offered him pecuniary assistance for the pur- 
pose. He listened to their advice ; abandoned 
the theatre ; applied himself diligently to legal 
studies ; was admitted, and became a success- 
ful advocate. Business poured in upon him — 
his reputation rose — prospects of ease, of afflu- 
ence, of substantial respectability, opened 
before him — but he relinquished them all with 
his incorrigible recklessness of mind, and 



IRobert Great ipaine 13 



relapsed into his former self-abandonment. 
From this time the springs of his mind seemed 
to have been rapidly broken down — invention 
languished — literary ambition was almost at 
an end ; at the same time, an inordinate appe- 
tite for knowledge was awakened, but it was 
that kind of appetite which produces indiges- 
tion, rather than invigoration of the system. 

" During these last years of his life," says his biog- 
rapher, "without a library, wandering from place to 
place, frequently uncertain where or whether he could 
procure a meal ; his thirst and acquisition of knowl- 
edge astonishingly increased. Though frequently 
tormented with disease, and beset by duns and ' the 
law's staff-officers, ' from whom, and from prison, he 
was frequently relieved by friendship ; neither sick- 
ness nor penury abated his love of a book and of 
instructive conversation . ' ' 

It is painful to trace the concluding history 
of this eccentric, contradictory, but interesting 
man. Broken down by penury and disease ; 
disheartened by fancied, perhaps real, but 
certainly self-brought neglect ; debilitated in 
mind and shattered in reputation, he languished 
into that state of nervous irritability and sick- 
liness of thought, when the world ceases to 
interest and delight ; when desire sinks into 
apathy, and ' ' the grasshopper becomes a bur- 
den." 



14 IRetuews an& /Ifciscellames 

We cannot refrain from recurring to the 
picture given of him by his faithful biographer, 
at the outset of his career, with all the glow 
of youth and fancy, and the freshness of 
blooming reputation that graced his opening 
talents, and contrasting it with the following, 
taken in his day of premature decay and 
blighted intellect. The contrast is instructive 
and affecting ; a few pages present the sad 
reverse of years. 

" He was fed and lodged in an apartment at his 
father's ; and in this feeble and emaciated state, 
walked abroad, from day to day, looking like misery 
personified, and pouring his lamentations into the 
ears of his friends, who were happy to confer those 
little acts of kindness which afforded to him some 
momentary consolation." 

Even " during this period of unhoused and 
disconsolate wretchedness," when the taper 
was fast sinking in the socket, he was still 
capable of poetical excitement. At the request 
of the ' ' Jockey Club, ' ' he undertook to write 
a song for their anniversary dinner. His 
enfeebled imagination faltered at the effort, 
until, spurred on b} T the last moment, he 
aroused himself into a transient glow of com- 
position, executed the task, and then threw by 
the pen forever. 



IRobert Great fl>afne 15 



It is worthy of mention, that under all this 
accumulation of penury, despondency, and 
sickness, the passion still remained for one 
species of amusement, which addresses itself 
chiefly to the imagination ; or rather, perhaps, 
the habit remained after the passion had sub- 
sided. He attended the theatre but two even- 
ings before his death. This was the last gleam 
of solitary pleasure ; on the following day, 
feeling his end approaching, he crawled to an 
"attic chamber in his father's house," as to 
one of those retreats — 

11 Where lonely want retires to die." 

Here he languished until the next evening, 
when, in the presence of his family and friends, 
he expired without a struggle or a groan. 

Such is a brief sketch of the biography of 
Robert Treat Paine, — a man calculated to 
flourish in the sunshine of life, but running 
to waste and ruin in the shade. We have 
been beguiled into a more particular notice of 
this part of the work from the interest which 
it excited, and the strong moral picture which 
it presented. And indeed the biography of 
authors is important in another point of view, 
as throwing a great light upon the state of 
literature and refinement of a nation. In a 
country where authors are few, any tract of 



16 IReviews an& /HMscellanies 

literal anecdote, like the present, is valuable 
as adding to the scanty materials from which 
future writers will be enabled to trace our 
advancement in letters and the arts. Here- 
after, curiosity may be interested to gather 
information concerning these early adventurers 
in literature, not because they may have any 
great merit in their works, but because they 
were the first to adventure ; as we are curious 
about the early settlers of our country, not 
from their eminence of character, but because 
they w r ere the first that settled. 

In looking back upon the life of Mr. Paine, 
we scarcely know whether his misfortunes are 
to be attributed so much to his love of litera- 
ture, as to his want of discretion and practical 
good sense. He was a man that seemed to 
live for the moment ; drawing but little instruc- 
tion from the past, and casting but careless 
glances towards the future. So far as relates 
to him, his country stands acquitted in its 
literary character ; for certainly, as far as he 
made himself useful in his range of talents, 
he was amply remunerated. 

The character given of him by his last 
biographer is highly interesting, and evinces 
that quick sensibility and openness to transient 
impressions, incident to a man more under the 
dominion of the fancy than the judgment. 



TRobert Great ipaine 17 



"To speak of Mr. Paine as a man ; hie labor, hoc 
opus est. In his intercourse with the world, his 
earliest impressions were rarely correct. His vivid 
imagination, in his first interviews, undervalued or 
overrated almost every individual with whom he came 
in contact ; but when a protracted acquaintance had 
effaced early impressions, his judgment recovered its 
tone, and no man brought his associates to a fairer 
scrutiny, or could delineate their characteristics with 
greater exactness. 

Nuttius addictus jurare, in verba, magistri ; 

and when he had once formed a deliberate opinion, 
without a change of circumstances, it is not known 
that he ever renounced it. Studious to please, he was 
only impatient of obtrusive folly, impertinent pre- 
sumption, or idle speculation. His friendships were 
cordial, and his good genius soon rectified the precip- 
itance of his enmities. To conflicting propositions 
he listened with attention ; heard his own opinions 
contested with complacency, and replied with courtesy. 
No root of bitterness ever quickened in his mind. 
If injured, he was placable ; if offended, he 

. . . showed a hasty spark, 
And straight was cold again. 

Parcere subjectis et debellare superbos 

was in strict unison with the habitual elevation of 
his feelings. Such services as it was in his power to 
render to others, he performed with manly zeal ; and 
their value was enhanced by being generally rendered 
where they were most needed ; and through life he 
cherished a lively gratitude towards those from whom 
he had received benefits." 



18 "Reviews anfc dRiscellanies 

On his irregular habits his biographer re- 
marks in palliation, ''He sensibly felt, and 
clearly foresaw, the consequences of their con- 
tinuous indulgence, and passed frequent resolu- 
tions of reformation ; but daily embarrassments 
shook the resolves of his seclusion, and reform 
was indefinitely postponed. He urged as an 
excuse for delaying the Herculean task, that 
it was impossible to commence it while per- 
plexed with difficulty and surrounded with 
distress. Instead of rising with an elastic 
power, and throwing the incumbent pressure 
from his shoulders, he succumbed under its 
accumulating weight, until he became insuper- 
ably recumbent ; and vital action was daily 
precariously sustained by administering ' the 
extreme medicine of the constitution for its 
daily food.' " 

We come now to the most ungracious part 
of our undertaking, — that of considering the 
literary character of the deceased. This is 
rendered the more delicate, from the excessive 
eulogiums passed on him in the enthusiasm of 
friendship, by his biographers, and which make 
us despair of yielding any praise that can 
approach to their ideas of his deserts. 

We are told that Dry den was Mr. Paine' s 
favorite author, and in some measure his pro- 
totype ; but he appears to have admired rather 



IRobert Great fl>atne 19 



than to have studied him. Like all those 
writers who take up some particular author as 
a model, a degree of bigotry has entered into 
his devotion, which made him blind to the 
faults of his original ; or rather, these faults 
became beauties in his eyes. Such, for in- 
stance, is that propensity to far-sought allu- 
sions and forced conceits. Had he studied 
Dryden in connection with the literature of his 
day, contrasting him with the poets who pre- 
ceded him, and those who were his contem- 
poraries, Mr. Paine would have discovered 
that these were faults which Dryden reprobated 
himself. They were the lingering traces of a 
taste which he was himself endeavoring to 
abolish. Dryden was a great reformer of 
English poetry ; not merely by improving the 
versification, and taming the rude roughness 
of the language into smoothness and har- 
mony ; but by abolishing from it those meta- 
physical subtleties, those strange analogies and 
extravagant combinations, which had been 
the pride and study of the old school. Thus 
struggling to cure others and himself of these 
excesses, it is not surprising that some of them 
still lurked about his writings ; it is rather a 
matter of surprise that the number should be 
so inconsiderable. 

These, however, seem to have caught the 



20 IReviews and Miscellanies 

ardent and ill-regulated imagination of Mr. 
Paine, and to have given a tincture to the 
whole current of his writings. We find him 
continually aiming at fine thoughts, fine figures, 
and epigrammatic point. The censure that 
Johnson passes on his great prototype, may 
be applied with tenfold justice to him : " His 
delight was in wild and daring sallies of senti- 
ment, — in the irregular and eccentric violence 
of wit. He delighted to tread upon the brink 
of meaning, where light and darkness begin 
to mingle ; to approach the precipice of absurd- 
ity, and hover over the abyss of unideal va- 
cancy." His verses are often so dizened out 
with embroidery, that the subject-matter is 
lost in the ornament — the idea is confused by 
the illustration ; or rather, instead of one plain, 
distinct idea being presented to the mind, we 
are bewildered with a score of similitudes. 
Such, for instance, is the case with the follow- 
ing passage, taken at random, and which is 
intended to be descriptive of misers : 



In life's dark cell, pale burns their glimmering soul : 
A rush-light warms the winter of the pole. 
To chill and cheerless solitude confined, 
No spring of virtue thaws the ice of mind. 
They creep in blood, as frosty streamlets flow, 
And freeze with life, as dormice sleep in snow. 



TRobert Great jpaine 21 

Like snails they bear their dungeons on their backs, 
And shut out light — to save a window-tax ! " 

His figures and illustrations are often strik- 
ing and beautiful, but too often far-fetched and 
extravagant. He had always plenty at com- 
mand, and, indeed, every thought that he con- 
ceived drew after it a cluster of similes. Among 
these he either had not the talent to discrimi- 
nate, or the self-denial to discard. Everything 
that entered his mind was transferred to his 
page ; trope followed trope ; illustration was 
heaped on illustration, ornament outvied orna- 
ment, until what at first promised to be fine, 
ended in being tawdry. 

Of his didactic poems, one of the most promi- 
nent is the "Ruling Passion." It contains 
many passages of striking merit, but is loaded 
with epithet, and distorted by constant strain- 
ing after epigram and eccentricity. The 
author seems never content unless he be spark- 
ling ; the reader is continually perplexed to 
know what he means, and sometimes disap- 
pointed, when he does find out, to discover 
that he means so little. It is one of the proper- 
ties of poetic genius to give consequence to 
trifles. By a kind of magic power, it swells 
things up beyond their natural dimensions, 
and decks them out with a splendor of dress 



22 Reviews and d&i6cellanie0 

and coloring that completely hides their real 
insignificance. Pigmy thoughts that crept in 
prose, start up into gigantic size in poetry ; 
and strutting in lofty epithets, inflated with 
hyperbole, and glittering with fine figures, are 
apt to take the imagination by surprise and 
dazzle the judgment. The steady eye of scru- 
tiny, however, soon penetrates the glare ; and 
when the thought has shrunk back to its real 
dimensions, what appeared to be oracular, 
turns out to be a truism. 

As an instance of this we will quote the fol- 
lowing passage : 

" Heroes and bards, who nobler rights have won 
Than Caesar's eagles, or the Mantuan swan, 
From eldest era share the common doom ; 
The sun of glory shines but on the tomb. 
Firm as the Mede, the stern decree subdues 
The brightest pageant of the proudest Muse. 
Man's noblest powers could ne'er the law revoke, 
Though Handel harmonized what Chatham spoke ; 
Though tuneful Morton's magic genius graced 
The Hyblean melody of Merry's taste ! 

" Time, the stern censor, talisman of fame, 
With rigid justice portions praise and shame : 
And, while his laurels, reared where genius grew, 
'Mid wide oblivion's lava bloom anew ; 
Oft will his chymic fire, in distant age 
Elicit spots, unseen on ancient page. 



IRobert Great ipaine 23 



So the tamed sage, who plunged in ^Etna's flame, 

'Mid pagan deities enshrined his name ; 

Till from the iliac mountain's crater thrown, 

The Martyr's sandal cost the God his crown." — P. 

187. 

Here the simple thought conveyed in this 
gorgeous page, as far as we can rake it out 
from among the splendid rubbish, is this, that 
fame is tested by time ; a truth, than which 
scarcely any is more familiar, and which the 
author, from the resemblance of the fourth line, 
and the tenor of those which preceded it, had 
evidently seen much more touchingly expressed 
in the elegy of Gray. 

The characters in this poem, which are in- 
tended to exemplify a ruling passion, are trite 
and commonplace. The pedant, the deluded 
female, the fop, the old maid, the miser, are all 
hackneyed subjects of satire, and are treated 
in a hackneyed manner. If these old dishes 
are to be served up again, we might at least 
expect that the sauces would be new. It is 
evident Mr. Paine drew his characters from 
books rather than from real life. His fop 
flourishes the cane and snuff-box as in the 
days of Sir Fopling Flutter. His old maid is 
s P r igg e d and behooped, and hides behind her 
fan according to immemorial usage ; and in 
his other characters we trace the same family 



24 IReviews anO flMscellantes 

likeness that marks the descendants of the 
heroes and heroines of ancient British poetry. 
The following description of the Savoyard 
is sprightly and picturesque, though, unfortu- 
nately for the author, it reminds us of the Swiss 
peasant of Goldsmith, and forces upon us the 
contrast between that sparkling poetry which 
dazzles the fancy, and those simple, homefelt 
strains, which sink to the heart, and are treas- 
ured up there : 

" To fame unknown, to happier fortune born, 
The blithe Savoyard hails the peep of morn, 
And while the fluid gold his eye surveys, 
The hoary glaciers fling their diamond blaze ; 
Geneva's broad lake rushes from its shores, 
Arve gently murmurs, and the rough Rhone roars. 
'Mid the cleft Alps, his cabin peers from high, 
Hangs o'er the clouds, and perches on the sky. 
O'er fields of ice, across the headlong flood, 
From cliff to cliff he bounds in tearless mood ; 
While, far beneath, a night of tempest lies, 
Deep thunder mutters, harmless lightning flies ; 
While, far above, from battlements of snow, 
Loud torrents tumble on tne world below ; 
On rustic reed he wakes a merrier tune, 
Than the lark warbles on the ' Ides of June.' 
Far off let glory's clarion shrilly swell ; 
He loves the music of his pipe as well. 
Let shouting millions crown the hero's head, 
And Pride her tessellated pavement tread, 
More happy far, this denizen of air 



IRobert Great fl>atne 25 



Enjoys what Nature condescends to spare ; 
His days are jocund, undisturbed his nights, 
His spouse contents him and his mule delights." 

P. 184. 

The conclusion of this very descriptive pas- 
sage partakes lamentably of the bathos. We 
cannot but smile at the last line, where he has 
paid the conjugal feelings of his hero but a 
sorry compliment, making him more delighted 
with his mule than with the wife of his bosom. 

The "Invention of Letters" is another 
poem, where the author seems to have exerted 
the full scope of his talents. It shows that 
adroitness in the tricks of composition, that 
love for meretricious ornament, and at the 
same time that amazing store of imagery and 
illustration, which characterize this writer. 
We see in it many fine flights of thought, and 
brave sallies of the imagination, but at the 
same time a superabundance of the luscious 
faults of poetry ; and we rise from it with aug- 
mented regret that so rich and prolific a genius 
had not been governed by a purer taste. The 
following eulogium of Faustus is a fair speci- 
men of the author's beauties and defects : 

" Egyptian shrubs, in hands of cook or priest, 
A king could mummy, or enrich a feast ; 
Faustus, great shade ! a nobler leaf imparts, 
Embalms all ages, and preserves all arts. 



26 "Reviews anfc dlbiscellantes 

The ancient scribe, employed by bards divine, 
With faltering finger traced the lingering line. 
So few the scrivener's dull profession chose, 
With tedious toil each tardy transcript rose ; 
And scarce the Iliad, penned from oral rhyme, 
Grew with the bark that bore its page sublime. 
But when the press, with fertile womb supplies 
The useful sheet, on thousand wings it flies ; 
Bound to no climate, to no age confined, 
The pinioned volume spreads to all mankind. 

No sacred power the Cadmean art could claim, 
O'er time to triumph, and defy the flame : 
In one sad day a Goth could ravage more 
Than ages wrote, or ages could restore. 

The Roman helmet, or the Grecian lyre, 
A realm might conquer, or a realm inspire ; 
Then sink, oblivious, in the mouldering dust, 
With those who blessed them, and with those who 

curst. 
What guide had then the lettered pilgrim led 
Where Plato moralized, where Caesar bled ? 
What page had told, in lasting record wrought, 
The world who butchered, or the world who taught ? 

Thine was the mighty power, immortal sage ! 
To burst the cerements of each buried age. 
Through the drear sepulchre of sunless Time, 
Rich with the trophied wrecks of many a clime, 
Thy daring genius broke the pathless way, 
And brought the glorious relics forth to day." — P. 165. 

Of the lyrical poetry of Mr. Paine we can 
but give the same mixed opinion. It some- 
times comes near being very fine, at other 



IRobert Great paine 27 



times is bombastic, and too often is obscure by 
far-fetched metaphors. The enthusiasm which 
is the life and spirit of this kind of poetry, cer- 
tainly allows great license to the imagination, 
and permits the poet to use bolder figures and 
stronger exaggerations than any other species 
of serious composition ; but he should be wary 
that he be not carried too far by the fervor of 
his feelings, and that he run not into obscurity 
and extravagance. In listening to lyrical 
poetry, we have to depend entirely on the ear 
to comprehend the subject ; and as verse fol- 
lows verse without allowing time for medita- 
tion, it is next to impossible for the auditor to 
extricate the meaning, if it be entangled in 
metaphor. The thoughts, therefore, should be 
clear and striking, and the figures, however 
lofty and magnificent, yet of that simple kind 
that flash at once upon the mind. 

The following stanza is one of those that 
come near being extremely beautiful. The 
versification is swelling and melodious, and 
captivates the ear with the luxury of sound ; 
the imagery is sublime, but the meaning a 
little obscure. 

" The sea is valor's charter, 
A nation's wealthiest mine : 
His foaming caves when ocean bares, 
Not pearls, but heroes shine ; 



28 IReviews and miscellanies 

Aloft they mount the midnight surge, 
Where shipwrecked spirits roam, 

And oft the knell is heard to swell, 
Where bursting billows foam. 

Each storm a race of heroes rears, 
To guard their native home." — P. 275. 

The ode entitled "Rise, Columbia," pos- 
sesses more simplicity than most of his poems. 
Several of the verses are deserving of much 
praise, both for the sentiment and the com- 
position. 

" Remote from realms of rival fame, 

Thy bulwark is thy mound of waves ; 
The sea, thy birthright, thou must claim, 
Or, subject, yield the soil it laves. 

" Nor yet, though skilled, delight in arms ; 
Peace, and her offspring Arts, be thine ; 
The face of Freedom scarce has charms, 
When on her cheeks no dimples shine. 

" While Fame, for thee, her wreath entwines, 

To bless, thy nobler triumph prove ; 

And, though the eagle haunts thy pines, 

Beneath thy willows shield the dove. 



" Revered in arms, in peace humane, 

No shore nor realm shall bound thy sway ; 
While all the virtues own thy reign, 
And subject elements obey ! " 



IRobert Great jpaine 29 



The ode of ' ' Spain, Commerce, and Free- 
dom," is a mere conflagration of fancy. What 
shall we say to such a ' ' melting hot — hissing 
hot ' ' stanza as the following ? — 

" Bright Day of the world ! dart thy lustre afar ! 
Fire the north with thy heat ! gild the south with 
thy splendor ! 
With thy glance light the torch of redintegrant war, 
Till the dismembered earth effervesce and regender. 
Through each zone may'st thou roll, 
Till thy beams at the Pole 
Melt Philosophy's Ice in the sea of the soul ! " 

We have unwarily exceeded our intended 
limits in this article, and must now bring it to 
a conclusion. From the examination which 
we have given Mr. Paine 's writings, we can 
by no means concur in the opinion that he is 
an author on whom the nation should venture 
its poetic claims. His natural requisites were 
undoubtedly great, and had they been skilfully 
managed, might have raised him to an envia- 
ble eminence. He possessed a brilliant imag- 
ination, but not great powers of reflection. 
He thinks often acutely, seldom profoundly ; 
indeed, there was such a constant wish to be 
ingenious and pungent, that he was impatient 
of the regular flow of thought and feeling, and 
seemed dissatisfied with every line that did not 



3o IReviews anD d&tscellantes 

contain a paradox, a simile, or an apothegm. 
There appears also to have been an indistinct- 
ness in his conceptions ; his mind teemed with 
vague ideas, with shadows of thought, which 
he could not accurately embody, and the con- 
sequence was a frequent want of precision in 
his writings. He had read much and miscel- 
laneously ; and having a tenacious memory, 
was enabled to illustrate his thoughts by a 
thousand analogies and similes, drawn from 
books, and often to enrich his poems with the 
thoughts of others. Indeed, his acquired 
treasures were often a disadvantage ; not hav- 
ing a simple, discriminating taste, he could 
not select from among them ; and being a little 
ostentatious of his wealth, was too apt to pour 
it in glittering profusion upon his page. 

If we have been too severe in our animad- 
versions on this author's faults, we can only 
say that the high encomiums of his biogra- 
phers, and the high assumptions of the author 
himself, which are evident from the style of 
his writings, obliged us to judge of him by an 
elevated standard. Mr. Paine ventured in the 
lofty walks of composition, and appears con- 
tinually to have been measuring himself with 
the masters of the art. His biographers have 
even hinted at placing him " on the same 
shelf with the prince of English rhyme," and 






•Robert Great ipatne 31 



thus, in a manner, have invited a less indul- 
gent examination than, perhaps, might other- 
wise have been given. 

If, however, we are unjust in our censures, 
a little while will decide their futility. To the 
living every hour of reputation is important, 
as adding one hour of enjoyment to existence ; 
but the fame of the dead, to be valuable, must 
be permanent : and it is in nowise impaired, if 
for a year or two the misrepresentations of 
criticism becloud its lustre. 

We assure the biographers of Mr. Paine that 
we heartily concur with them in the wish to 
see one of our native poets rising to equal ex- 
cellence with the immortal bards of Great Brit- 
ain ; but we do not feel any restless anxiety on 
the subject. We wait with hope, but we wait 
with patience. Of all writers a great poet is 
the rarest. Britain, with all her patronage of 
literature, with her standing army of authors, 
has through a series of ages produced but a 
very, very few who deserve the name. Can it, 
then, be a matter of surprise, or should it be of 
humiliation, that, in our country, where the 
literary ranks are so scanty, the incitements so 
small, and the advantages so inconsiderable, 
we should not yet have produced a master in 
the art ? Let us rest satisfied ; as far as the 
intellect of the nation has been exercised, we 



32 



IRevtewe anD Miscellanies 



have furnished our full proportion of ordinary 
poets, and some that have even risen above 
mediocrity ; but a really great poet is the pro- 
duction of a century. 




Efcwin <L Ibollanfc. 

Odes, Naval Songs, and Other Occasional Poems. By 
Edwin C. Holland, Esq., Charleston. 

A SMALL volume, with the above title, 
has been handed to us, with a request 
that it might be criticised. Though we 
do not profess the art and mystery of 
reviewing, and are not ambitious of being either 
wise or facetious at the expense of others, yet 
we feel a disposition to notice the present work, 
because it is a specimen of one branch of liter- 
ature at present very popular throughout our 
country, and also because the author, who, we 
understand, is quite young, gives proof of very 
considerable poetical talent and is in great dan- 
ger of being spoiled. 

We apprehend, from various symptoms about 
his work, that he has for some time past re- 
ceived great honors from circles of literary la- 
dies and gentlemen, and that he has great facil- 
ity at composition — we find, moreover, that 
33 



34 IReviews an& fllMecellanfes 

he has written for public papers under the sig- 
nature of " Orlando," and above all, that a 
prize has been awarded to one of his poems, in 
a kind of poetical lottery, cunningly devised 
by an " eminent bookseller. ' ' 

These, we must confess, are melancholy dis- 
advantages to start withal ; and many a youth- 
ful poet of great promise has been utterly ruined 
by misfortunes of much inferior magnitude. 
We trust, however, that in the present case 
they are not without remedy, and that the au- 
thor is not so far gone in the evil habit of pub- 
lishing as to be utterly beyond reclaim. Still 
we feel the necessity of extending immediate 
relief, from a hint he gives us on the cover of 
his book, that the present poems are "presented 
merely as specimens of his manner, and com- 
prise but a very small portio?i ' ' of those he has 
on hand. This information really startled us ; 
we beheld in imagination a mighty mass of 
odes, songs, sonnets, and acrostics, impending 
in awful volume over our heads, and threaten- 
ing every instant to nutter down, like a thea- 
trical snowstorm of white paper. To avert so 
fearful an avalanche have we hastened to take 
pen in hand, determined to risk the author's 
displeasure, by giving him good advice, and to 
deliver him, if possible, uninjured out of the 
hands both of his admirers and his patron. 



B&win C. t>ollan£> 35 



The main piece of advice we would give him 
is, to lock up all his remaining writings, and 
to abstain most abstemiously from publishing 
for some years to come. We know that this 
will appear very ungracious counsel, and we 
have not very great hope that it will be adopted. 
We are well aware of the eagerness of young 
authors to hurry into print, and that the Muse 
is too fond of present pay, and " present pud- 
ding," to brook voluntarily the postponement 
of reward. Besides, this early and exuberant 
foliage of the mind is peculiar to warm sensi- 
bilities and lively fancies, in which the princi- 
ples of fecundity are so strong as to be almost 
irrepressible. The least ray of popular admi- 
ration sets all the juices in motion, produces 
a bursting forth of buds and blossoms, and a 
profusion of vernal and perishable vegetation. 
But there is no greater source of torment to a 
writer than the flippancies of his juvenile 
Muse. The sins and follies of his youth arise 
in loathsome array, to disturb the quiet of 
his maturer years, and he is perpetually 
haunted by the spectres of the early murders 
he has perpetrated on good English and good 
sense. 

We have no intention to discourage Mr. 
Holland from his poetic career. On the con- 
trary, it is in consequence of the good opinion 



36 IRevfews anfc dfttecellanfes 

we entertain of his genius, that we are solici- 
tous that it should be carefully nurtured, 
wholesomely disciplined, and trained up to 
full and masculine vigor, rather than dissipated 
and enfeebled by early excesses. We think 
we can discern in his writings strong marks of 
amiable, and generous, and lofty sentiment, 
of ready invention, and great brilliancy of 
expression. These are as yet obscured by a 
false, or rather puerile taste, which time and 
attention will improve, but it is necessary that 
time and attention should be employed. Were 
his faults merely those of mediocrity we should 
despair, for there is no such thing as ferment- 
ing a dull mind into anything like poetic 
inspiration ; but we think the effervescence of 
this writer's fancy will at a future day settle 
down into something substantially excellent. 
Rising genius always shoots forth its rays from 
among clouds and vapors, but these will grad- 
ually roll away and disappear, as it ascends to 
its steady and meridian lustre. 

One thing which pleases us in the songs in 
this collection is, that they have more original- 
ity than we commonly meet with in our national 
songs. We begin to think that it is a much 
more difficult thing to write a good song than 
to fight a good battle ; for our tars have 
achieved several splendid victories in a short 



BDwin C. Ibolland 37 



space of time ; but, notwithstanding the thou- 
sand pens that have been drawn forth in every 
part of the Union, we do not recollect a single 
song of really sterling merit that has been 
written on the occasion. Nothing is more 
offensive than a certain lawless custom which 
prevails among our patriotic songsters, of 
seizing upon the noble songs of Great Britain, 
mangling and disfiguring them, with pens 
more merciless than Indian scalping-knives, 
and then passing them off for American songs. 
This may be an idea borrowed from the custom 
of our savage neighbors, of adopting prisoners 
into their families, and so completely taking 
them to their homes and hearts, as almost to 
consider them as children of their own beget- 
ting. At any rate, it is a practice worthy of 
savage life and savage ideas of property. We 
have witnessed such horrible distortions of 
sense and poetry ; we have seen the fine mem- 
bers of an elegant stanza so mangled and 
wrenched, in order to apply it to this country, 
that our very hearts ached with sympathy and 
vexation. We are continually annoyed with 
the figure of poor Columbia, an honest, awk- 
ward, dowdy sort of dame, thrust into the 
place of Britannia and made to wield the tri- 
dent and "rule the waves," and play off a 
thousand clumsy ceremonies before company, 



38 IRevtews and rtlMscellantes 

as maladroitly as a worthy tradesman's wife 
enacting a fine lady or a tragedy queen. 

Besides, there is in this a pitifulness of spirit, 
an appearance of abject poverty of mind, that 
would be degrading if it really belonged to the 
nation. Nay, more, there is a positive dis- 
honesty in it. We may, if we choose, plunder 
the bodies of our enemies, whom we have fairly 
conquered in the field of battle ; and we may 
strut about, uncouthly arrayed in their gar- 
ments, with their coats swinging to our heels, 
and their boots ' ' a world too wide for our 
shrunk shanks, ' ' but the same privilege does 
not extend to literature ; and however our 
puny poetasters may flaunt for a while in the 
pilfered garbs of their gigantic neighbors, they 
may rest assured that if there should be a 
tribunal hereafter to try the crimes of authors, 
they will be considered as mere poetical high- 
waymen, and condemned to swing most loftily 
for their offences. 

It is really insulting to tell this country, as 
some of these varlets do, that she ' ' needs no 
bulwarks, no towers along the steep," when 
there is a cry from one end of the Union to 
the other for the fortifying of our seaports and 
the defence of our coast, and when every 
post brings us intelligence of the enemy depre- 
dating in our bays and rivers ; and it is still 



JEOvvin C. f>ollanD 39 



more insulting to tell her that " her home is 
on the deep," which, if it really be the case, 
only proves that at present she is turned out 
of doors. No, if we really must have national 
songs, let them be of our own manufacturing, 
however coarse. We would rather hear our 
victories celebrated in the merest doggerel that 
sprang from native invention, than beg, borrow, 
or steal from others, the thoughts and words 
in which to express our exultation. By task- 
ing our own powers, and relying entirely on 
ourselves, we shall gradually improve and rise 
to poetical independence ; but this practice of 
appropriating the thoughts of others, of get- 
ting along by contemptible shifts and literary 
larcenies, prevents native exertion, and pro- 
duces absolute impoverishment. It is in 
literature as in the accumulation of private 
fortune ; the humblest beginning should not 
dishearten ; much may be done by persevering 
industry or spirited enterprise ; but he who 
depends on borrowing will never grow rich, 
and he who indulges in theft will ultimately 
come to the gallows. 

We are glad to find that the writer before us 
is innocent of these enormous sins against 
honesty and good sense ; but we would warn 
him against another evil, into which young 
writers, and young men, are very prone to 



40 IRevtews and Miscellanies 

fall — we mean bad company. We are appre- 
hensive that the companions of his literary 
leisure have been none of the most profitable, 
and that he has been trifling too much with 
the fantastic gentry of the Delia Cruscan 
school, revelling among flowers and hunting 
butterflies, when he should have been soberly 
walking, like a duteous disciple, in the foot- 
steps of the mighty masters of his art. We 
are led to this idea from seeing in his poems 
the portentous names of ' ' the blue-eyed 
Myra," and "Rosa Matilda," and from read- 
ing of "lucid vests veiling snowy breasts," 
and ' ' satin sashes, ' ' and ' ' sighs of rosy per- 
fume," and "trembling eve-star beam, through 
some light cloud's glory seen " (which, by the 
by, is a rhyme very much like that of " muffin 
and dumpling"), and — 

"The sweetest of perfumes that languishing flies 
I/ike a kiss on the uectarous morning-tide air." 

Now all this kind of poetry is rather late in 
the day — the fashion has gone by. A man 
may as well attempt to figure as a fine gentle- 
man in a pea-green silk coat, and pink satin 
breeches, and powdered head, and paste 
buckles, and sharp-toed shoes, and all the 
finery of Sir Fopling Flutter, as to write in 



Edwin C. IboIlanD 4* 



the style of Delia Crusca. Gifford has long 
since brushed away all this trumpery. 

We think also the author has rather per- 
verted his fancy by reading the amatory effu- 
sions of Moore ; which, whatever be the magic 
of their imagery and versification, breathe a 
spirit of heartless sensuality and soft voluptu- 
ousness beneath the tone of vigorous and virtu- 
ous manhood. 

This rhapsodizing about ' ' brilliant pleas- 
ures," and " hours of bliss," and "humid eye- 
lids," and " ardent kisses," is, after all, mighty 
cold-blooded, silly stuff. It may do to tickle 
the ears of love-sick striplings and romantic 
milliners ; but one verse describing pure domes- 
tic affection, or tender innocent love, from the 
pen of Burns, speaks more to the heart than 
all the meretricious rhapsodies of Moore. 

We doubt if in the whole round of raptur- 
ous scenes, dwelt on with elaborate salacity 
by the modern Anacreon, one passage can be 
found, combining equal eloquence of language, 
delicacy of imagery, and impassioned tender- 
ness, with the following picture of the inter- 
view and parting of two lovers : 

" How sweetly bloomed the gay, green birk, 
How rich the hawthorn's blossom ; 
As underneath their fragrant shade 
I clasped her to my bosom ! 



42 IReviews anD d&iscellanies 

The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie : 
For dear to me, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

" Wi' mony a vow, and locked embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursel's asunder ; 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld 's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary. 

" O pale, pale now those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kissed sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary." 

Throughout the whole of the foregoing 
stanzas we would remark the extreme simpli- 
city of the language, the utter absence of all 
false coloring, of those ' ' roseate hues, ' ' and 
"ambrosial odors," and "purple mists," that 
steam from the pages of our voluptuous poets, 
to intoxicate the weak brains of their admirers. 
Burns depended on the truth and tenderness 



EOvvtn C. Ibollanfc 43 



of his ideas, on that deep-toned feeling which 
is the very soul of poetry. To use his own 
admirably descriptive words, — 



His rural loves are Nature's sel, 

Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 

Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spelt, 

O' witchin* love, 
That charm, that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move." 



But the chief fault which infests the style of 
the poems before us, is a passion for hyperbole, 
and for the glare of extravagant images and 
flashing phrases. This taste for gorgeous 
finery and violent metaphor prevails through- 
out our country, and is characteristic of the 
early efforts of literature. Our national songs 
are full of ridiculous exaggeration, and frothy 
rant and commonplace bloated up into fustian. 
The writers seem to think that huge words 
and mountainous figures constitute the sublime. 
Their puny thoughts are made to sweat under 
loads of cumbrous imagery, and now and then 
they are so wrapt up in conflagrations, and 
blazes, and thunders and lightnings, that, like 
Nick Bottom's hero, they seem to have " slipt 
on a brimstone shirt, and are all on fire ! ' ' 

We would advise these writers, if they wish 



44 IRevtews and dlMscellanies 

to see what is really grand and forcible in 
patriotic minstrelsy, to read the national songs 
of Campbell, and the "Bannock-Burn" of 
Burns, where there is the utmost grandeur of 
thought conveyed in striking but perspicuous 
language. It is much easier to be fine than 
correct in writing. A rude and imperfect taste 
always heaps on decoration, and seeks to daz- 
zle by a profusion of brilliant incongruities. 
But true taste evinces itself in pure and noble 
simplicity, and a fitness and chasteness of orna- 
ment. The Muses of the ancients are described 
as beautiful females, exquisitely proportioned, 
simply attired, with no ornaments but the 
diamond clasps that connected their garments ; 
but were we to paint the Muse of one of our 
popular poets, we should represent her as a 
pawnbroker's widow, with rings on every fin- 
ger, and loaded with borrowed and heterogene- 
ous finery. 

One cause of the epidemical nature of our 
literary errors, is the proneness of our authors 
to borrow from each othei, and thus to inter- 
change faults, and give a circulation to absur- 
dities. It is daugerous always for a writer to 
be very studious of contemporary publications, 
which have not passed the ordeal of time and 
criticism. He should fix his eye on those j 
models which have been scrutinized, and of the 



JEDwtn C. IbollanD 45 



faults and excellences of which he is fully ap- 
prised. We think we can trace, in the popu- 
lar songs of the volume before us, proofs that 
the author has been very conversant with the 
works of Robert Treat Paine, a late American 
writer of very considerable merit, but who 
delighted in continued explosions of fancy and 
glitter of language. As we do not censure 
wantonly, or for the sake of finding fault, we 
shall point to one of the author's writings, on 
which it is probable he most values himself, 
as it is the one which publicly received the 
prize in the Bookseller's Lottery. We allude 
to "The Pillar of Glory." We are likewise 
induced to notice this particularly, because 
we find it going the rounds of the Union, — 
strummed at pianos, sang at concerts, and 
roared forth lustily at public dinners. Having 
this universal currency, and bearing the impos- 
ing title of " Prize Poem," which is undoubt- 
edly equal to the "Tower Stamp," it stands 
a great chance of being considered abroad as 
a prize production of one of our Universities, 
and at home as a standard poem, worthy the 
imitation of all tyros in the art. 

The first stanza is very fair, and indeed is 
one of those passages on which we found our 
good opinion of the author's genius. The last 
line is very noble. 



46 IReviews and jflBiscellames 

" Hail to the heroes whose triumphs have brightened 
The darkness which shrouded America's name ! 
Long shall their valor in battle that lightened, 
Live in the brilliant escutcheons of fame ! 
Dark where the torrents flow, 
And the rude tempests blow, 
The stormy-clad Spirit of Albion raves ; 
Long shall she mourn the day, 
When in the vengeful fray, 
Liberty walked, like a god, on the waves." 

The second stanza, however, sinks from this 
vigorous and perspicuous tone. We have the 
" halo and lustre of story " curling round the 
4 ' wave of the ocean " ; a mixture of ideal and 
tangible objects wholly inadmissible in good 
poetry. But the great mass of sin lies in the 
third stanza, where the writer rises into such 
a glare and confusion of figure as to be almost 
incomprehensible. 

" The pillar of glory, the sea that enlightens, 

Shall last till eternity rocks on its base ! 
The splendor of fame its waters that brightens, 

Shall follow the footsteps of time in his race ! 
Wide o'er the stormy deep, 
Where the rude surges sweep, 

Its lustre shall circle the brows of the brave ! 
Honor shall give it light, 
Triumph shall keep it bright, 

Long as in battle we meet on the wave I " 

We confess that we are sadly puzzled to 



jECwnn C. IbollanD 47 



understand the nature of this ideal pillar, that 
seemed to have set the sea in a blaze, and was 
to last " till eternity rocks on its base," which 
we suppose is, according to a vulgar phrase, 
"forever and a day after." Our perplexity 
was increased by the cross light from the 
" splendor of fame," which, like a foot-boy 
with a lantern, was to jog on after the foot- 
steps of Time ; who it appears was to run a 
race against himself on the water — and as to 
the other lights and gleams that followed, they 
threw us into complete bewilderment. It is 
true, after beating about for some time, we at 
length landed on what we suspected to be the 
author's meaning ; but a worthy friend of ours, 
who read the passage with great attention, 
maintains that this pillar of glory which en- 
lightened the sea can be nothing more nor less 
than a light-house. 

We do not certainly wish to indulge in im- 
proper or illiberal levity. It is not the author's 
fault that his poem has received a prize, and 
been elevated into unfortunate notoriety. Were 
its faults matters of concernment merely to 
himself, we should barely have hinted at them ; 
but the poem has been made, in a manner, a 
national poem, and in attacking it we attack 
generally that prevailing taste among our poeti- 
cal writers for excessive ornament, for turgid 



48 "Reviews anfc /HMscellanies 

extravagance, and vapid hyperbole. We wish 
in some small degree to counteract the mischief 
that may be done to national literature by emi- 
nent booksellers crowning inferior effusions as 
prize poems, setting them to music, and circu- 
lating them widely through the country. We 
wish also, by a little good-humored rebuke, to 
stay the hurried career of a youth of talent 
and promise, whom we perceive lapsing into 
error, and liable to be precipitated forward by 
the injudicious applauses of his friends. 

We therefore repeat our advice to Mr. Hol- 
land, that he abstain from further publication 
until he has cultivated his taste and ripened 
his mind. We earnestly exhort him rigorously 
to watch over his youthful Muse ; who, we 
suspect, is very spirited and vivacious, subject 
to quick excitement, of great pruriency of feel- 
ing, and a most uneasy inclination to breed. 
Let him in the meanwhile diligently improve 
himself in classical studies, and in an intimate 
acquaintance with the best and simplest British 
poets, and the soundest British critics. We 
do assure him that really fine poetry is exceed- 
ingly rare, and not to be written copiously nor 
rapidly. Middling poetry ma}' be produced in 
any quantity ; the press groans with it, the 
shelves of circulating libraries are loaded with 
it ; but who reads merely middling poetry ? 



Efcwin C. IboHanD 49 



Only two kinds can possibly be tolerated, — 
the very good or the very bad, — one to be read 
with enthusiasm, the other to be laughed at. 
We have in the course of this article quoted 
him rather unfavorably, but it was for the pur- 
pose of general criticism, not individual cen- 
sure ; before we conclude, it is but justice to 
give a specimen of what we consider his best 
manner. The following stanzas are taken 
from elegiac lines on the death of a young 
lady. *The comparison of a beautiful female 
to a flower is obvious and frequent in poetry, 
but we think it is managed here with uncom- 
mon delicacy and consistency, and great novelty 
of thought and manner : 

" There was a flower of beauteous birth, 
Of lavish charms, and chastened dye ; 
It smiled upon the lap of earth, 
And caught the gaze of every eye. 

" The vernal breeze, whose step is seen 
Imprinted in the early dew, 
Ne'er brushed a flower of brighter beam, 
Or nursed a bud of lovelier hue ! 

" It blossomed not in dreary wild, 

In darksome glen, or desert bower, 
But grew, like Flora's fav'rite child, 
In sunbeam soft and fragrant shower. 



50 IReviews ano Miscellanies 

" The graces loved with chastened light 
To flush its pure celestial bloom, 
And all its blossoms were so bright, 
It seemed not formed to die so soon. 

"Youth round the flow'ret ere it fell 
In armor bright was seen to stray, 
And beauty said, her magic spell 
Should keep its perfume from decay. 

" The parent-stalk from which it sprung, 
Transported as its halo spread, 
In holy umbrage o'er it hung, 

And tears of heaven-born rapture shed. 

" Yet, fragile flower ! they blossom bright, 
Though guarded by a magic spell, 
Like a sweet beam of evening light, 
In lonely hour of tempest fell. 

" The death-blast of the winter air, 

The cold frost and the night-wind came, 
They nipt thy beauty once so fair !— 
It shall not bloom on earth again ! " 

From a general view of the poems of Mr. 
Holland, it is evident that he has the external 
requisites for poetry in abundance, — he has 
fine images, fine phrases, and ready versifica- 
tion ; he must only learn to think with fulness 
and precision, and he will write splendidly. 
As we have already hinted, we consider his 
present productions but the blossom qf his 



JEowin C. IbollanD 



genius, and like blossoms they will fall and 
perish ; but we trust that after some time of 
silent growth and gradual maturity, we shall 
see them succeeded by a harvest of rich and 
highly flavored fruit. 




Wbeaton's Ibistors of tbe IKortbmen. 

History of the Northmen, or Danes and Normans. 
8vo, London, 1831. 

WE are misers in knowledge as in 
wealth. Open inexhaustible mines 
to us on every hand, j^et we return 
to grope in the exhausted stream of 
past opulence, and sift its sands for ore ; place 
us in an age when history pours in upon us 
like an inundation and the events of a century 
are crowded into a lustre, 3^et we tenaciously 
hold on to the scanty records of foregone times, 
and often neglect the all-important present to 
discuss the possibility of the almost forgotten 
past. 

It is worthy of remark that this passion for 
the antiquated and the obsolete appears to be 
felt with increasing force in this country. It 
may be asked, what sympathies can the native 
of a land, where everything is in its youth 
and freshness, have with the antiquities of the 
52 



IKttbeaton'e Ibistor^ of tbe ftortbmen 53 



ancient hemisphere ? What inducement can 
he have to turn from the animated scene 
around him, and the brilliant perspective that 
breaks upon his imagination, to wander among 
the mouldering monuments of the olden world 
and to call up its shadowy lines of kings and 
warriors from the dim twilight of tradition ? — 

" Why seeks he, with unwearied toil, 

Through death's dark walls to urge his way, 
Reclaim his long-asserted spoil, 
And lead oblivion into day ? " 

We answer, that he is captivated by the pow- 
erful charm of contrast. Accustomed to a land 
where everything is bursting into life, and his- 
tory itself but in its dawning, antiquity has, in 
fact, for him the effect of novelty ; and the 
fading but mellow glories of the past, which 
linger in the horizon of the Old World, relieve 
the eye, after being dazzled with the rising 
rays which sparkle up the firmament of the 
New. 

It is a mistake, too, that the political faith 
of a republican requires him, on all occasions, 
to declaim with bigot heat against the stately 
and traditional ceremonials, the storied pomps 
and pageants of other forms of government ; 
or even prevents him from, at times, viewing 
them with interest, as matters worthy of 



54 IReviews and flMscellames 

curious investigation. Independently of the 
themes they present for historical and philo- 
sophical inquiry, he may regard them with a 
picturesque and poetical eye, as he regards the 
Gothic edifices rich with the elaborate orna- 
ments of a gorgeous and intricate style of archi- 
tecture, without wishing to exchange therefor 
the stern but proud simplicity of his own habi- 
tation ; or, as he admires the romantic keeps 
and castles of chivalrous and feudal times, 
without desiring to revive the dangerous cus- 
toms and warlike days in which they origi- 
nated. To him the whole pageantry of emperors 
and kings, and nobles, and titled knights, is, 
as it were, a species of poetical machinery, ad- i 
dressing itself to his imagination, but no more f 
affecting his faith than does the machinery of 
the heathen mythology affect the orthodoxy r 
of the scholar who delights in the strains of '- 
Homer and Virgil, and wanders with enthusi 
asm among the crumbling temples and sculp 
tured deities of Greece and Rome ; or do the \ 
fairy mythology of the East, and the demonol 
ogy of the North, impair the Christian faith of I 
the poet or the novelist who interweaves them 
in his fictions. 

We have been betrayed into these remarks, 
in considering the work before us, where we 
find one of our countrymen, and a thorough 



THabeaton's 1bi»torg of tbe IRortbmen 55 



republican, investigating with minute atten- 
tion some of the most antiquated and dubious 
tracts of European history, and treating of 
some of its exhausted and almost forgotten 
dynasties ; yet evincing throughout the enthu- 
siasm of an antiquarian, the liberality of a 
scholar, and the enlightened toleration of a 
citizen of the world. 

The author of the work before us, Mr. Henry 
Wheaton, has for some years filled the situation 
of Charge d' Affaires at the court of Denmark. 
Since he has resided at Copenhagen, he has 
been led into a course of literary and historic 
research, which has ended in the production 
of the present history of those Gothic and Teu- 
tonic people, who, inhabiting the northern 
regions of Europe, have so often and so success- 
fully made inroads into other countries, more 
genial in climate and abundant in wealth. A 
considerable part of his book consists of what 
may be called conjectural or critical history, 
relating to remote and obscure periods of time, 
previous to the introduction of Christianity, 
historiography, and the use of Roman letters 
among those northern nations. At the outset, 
therefore, it assumes something of an austere 
and antiquarian air, which may daunt and dis- 
courage that class of readers who are accus- 
tomed to find history carefully laid out in easy 



56 IRevieves and d&iscellanies 

rambling walks through agreeable landscapes, 
where just enough of the original roughness is 
left to produce the picturesque and romantic. 
Those, however, who have the courage to pene- 
trate the dark and shadowy boundary of our 
author's work, grimly beset with hyperborean 
horrors, will find it resembling one of those 
enchanted forests described in northern poetry, 
— embosoming regions of wonder and delight, 
for such as have the hardihood to achieve 
the adventure. For our own part, we have 
been struck with the variety of adventurous 
incidents crowded into these pages, and with 
the abundance of that poetical material which 
is chiefly found in early history ; while many of 
the rude traditions of the Normans, the Saxons, 
and the Danes have come to us with the capti- 
vating charms of early association recalling the 
marvellous tales and legends that have de- 
lighted us in childhood. 

The first seven chapters may be regarded as 
preliminary to the narrative, or, more strictly, 
historical part of the book. They trace the 
scanty knowledge possessed by Greek and 
Roman antiquity of the Scandinavian North ; 
the earliest migrations from that quarter to the 
west, and south, and east of Europe ; the dis- 
covery of Iceland by the Norwegians ; with 
the singular circumstances which rendered that 






Mbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe ftortbmen 57 



barren and volcanic isle, where ice and fire 
contend for mastery, the last asylum of Pagan 
faith and Scandinavian literature. In this 
wild region they lingered until the L,atin alpha- 
bet superseded the Runic character, when the 
traditionary poetry and oral history of the 
North were consigned to written records, and 
rescued from that indiscriminate destruction 
which overwhelmed them on the Scandinavian 
continent. 

The government of Iceland is described by 
our author as being more properly a patriarchal 
aristocracy than a republic ; and he observes 
that the Icelanders, in consequence of their 
adherence to their ancient religion,, cherished 
and cultivated the language and literature of 
their ancestors, and brought them to a degree 
of beauty and perfection which they never 
reached in the Christianized countries of the 
North, where the introduction of the learned 
languages produced feeble and awkward, 
though classical imitation, instead of graceful 
and national originality. 

When, at the end of the tenth century, 
Christianity was at length introduced into the 
island, the national literature, though existing 
only in oral tradition, was full blown, and had 
attained too strong and deep a root in the 
affections of the people to be eradicated, and 



53 IReviews and Miscellanies 

had given a charm and value to the language 
with which it was identified. The Latin letters, 
therefore, which accompanied the introduction 
of the Romish religion, were merely adapted 
to designate the sounds heretofore expressed 
by Runic characters, and thus contributed to 
preserve in Iceland the ancient language of the 
North, when exiled from its parent countries 
of Scandinavia. To this fidelity to its ancient 
tongue, the rude and inhospitable shores of 
Iceland owe that charm which gives them an 
inexhaustible interest in the eyes of the anti- 
quary, and endears them to the imagination 
of the poet. "The popular superstitions," 
observes our author, " with which the mythol- 
ogy and poetry of the North are interwoven, 
continued still to linger in the sequestered glens 
of this remote island." 

The language in itself appears to have been 
worthy of this preservation, since we are told 
that " it bears in its internal structure a strong 
resemblance to the Latin and Greek, and even 
to the ancient Persian and Sanscrit, and rivals 
in copiousness, flexibility, and energy, every 
modern tongue." 

Before the introduction of letters, all Scandi- 
navian knowledge was perpetuated in oral 
tradition by their Skalds, who, like the rhapso- 
dists of ancient Greece, and the bards of the 



TKKbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe IRortbmen 59 



Celtic tribes, were at once poets and historians. 
We boast of the encouragement of letters and 
literary men in these days of refinement ; but 
where are they more honored and rewarded 
than they were among these barbarians of the 
North? The Skalds, we are told, were the 
companions and chroniclers of kings, who 
entertained them in their trains, enriched them 
with rewards, and sometimes entered the lists 
with them in trials of skill in their art. They 
in a manner bound country to country, and 
people to people, by a delightful link of union, 
travelling about as wandering minstrels, from 
land to land, and often performing the office 
of ambassadors between hostile tribes. While 
thus applying the gifts of genius to their 
divine and legitimate ends, by calming the 
passions of men, and harmonizing their feel- 
ings into kindly sympathy, they were looked 
up to with mingled reverence and affec- 
tion, and a sacred character was attached to 
their calling. Nay, in such estimation were 
they held, that they occasionally married the 
daughters of princes, and one of them was 
actually raised to a throne in the fourth century 
of the Christian era. 

It is true the Skalds were not always treated 
with equal deference, but were sometimes 
doomed to experience the usual caprice that 



60 IRevtews and /BMscellanies 

attends upon royal patronage. We are told 
that Canute the Great retained several at his 
court, who were munificently rewarded for 
their encomiastic lays. One of them having 
composed a short poem in praise of his sover- 
eign, hastened to recite it to him, but found 
him just rising from table, and surrounded by 
suitors. 



"The impatient poet craved an audience of the 
king for his lay, assuring him it was 'very short.' 
The wrath of Canute was kindled, and he answered 
the Skald with a stern look, — ' Are you not ashamed 
to do what none but yourself has dared, — to write a 
short poem upon me ? — unless by the hour of dinner 
to-morrow you produce a drapa above thirty strophes 
long on the same subject, your life shall pay the pen- 
alty.' The inventive genius of the poet did not desert 
him ; he produced the required poem, which was of 
the kind called Tog-drapa, and the king liberally 
rewarded him with fifty marks of silver. 

"Thus we perceive how the flowers of poetry sprung 
up and bloomed amidst eternal ice and snows. The 
arts of peace were successfully cultivated by the free 
and independent Icelanders. Their Arctic isle was 
not warmed by a Grecian sun, but their hearts glowed 
with the fire of freedom. The natural divisions of the 
country by icebergs and lava streams insulated the 
people from each other, and the inhabitants of each 
valley and each hamlet formed, as it were, an indepen- 
dent community. These were again reunited in the 
general assembly of the Althing, which might not be 



•Qdbeaton's Ibtetorg of tbe Irtortbmen 61 



unaptly likened to the Amphictyonic council or Olym- 
pic games, where all the tribes of the nation convened 
to offer the common rites of their religion, to decide 
their mutual differences, and to listen to the lays of the 
Skald, which commemorated the exploits of their 
ancestors. Their pastoral life was diversified by the 
occupation of fishing. Like the Greeks, too, the sea 
was their element, but even their shortest voyages 
bore them much farther from their native shores than 
the boasted expedition of the Argonauts. Their 
familiarity with the perils of the ocean, and with the 
diversified manners and customs of foreign lands, 
stamped their national character with bold and origi- 
nal features, which distinguished them from every 
other people. 

"The power of oral tradition, in thus transmitting 
through a succession of ages, poetical and prose com- 
positions of considerable length, may appear almost 
incredible to civilized nations accustomed to the art 
of writing. But it is well known, that even after the 
Homeric poems had been reduced to writing, the 
rhapsodists who had been accustomed to recite them 
could readily repeat any passage desired. And we 
have, in our own times, among the Servians, Cal- 
mucks, and other barbarous and semi-barbarous 
nations, examples of heroic and popular poems of 
great length thus preserved and handed down to 
posterity. This is more especially the case where 
there is a perpetual order of men, whose exclusive 
employment it is to learn and repeat, whose faculty 
of the memory is thus improved and carried to the 
highest pitch of perfection, and who are relied upon 
as historiographers to preserve the national annals. 
The interesting scene presented this day in every 



62 IReviews and d&iscellantes 

Icelandic family, in the long nights of winter, is a 
living proof of the existence of this ancient custom. 
No sooner does the day close, than the whole patriar- 
chal family, domestics and all, are seated on their 
couches in the principal apartment, from the ceiling 
of which the reading and working lamp is suspended ; 
and one of the family, selected for that purpose, takes 
his seat near the lamp, and begins to read some fa- 
vorite Saga, or it may be the works of Klopstock and 
Milton (for these have been translated in Icelandic), 
whilst all the rest attentively listen, and are at the 
same time engaged in their respective occupations. 
From the scarcity of printed books in this poor and 
sequestered country, in some families the Sagas are 
recited by those who have committed them to mem- 
ory, and there are still instances of itinerant orators 
of this sort, who gain a livelihood during the winter 
by going about, from house to house, repeating the 
stories they have thus learnt by heart." 

The most prominent feature of Icelandic 
verse, according to our author, is its allitera- 
tion. In this respect it resembles the poetry of 
all rude periods of society. That of the east- 
ern nations, the Hebrews and the Persians, is 
full of this ornament ; and it is found even 
among the classic poets of Greece and Rome. 
These observations of Mr. Wheaton are sup- 
ported by those of Dr. Henderson,* who states 

* Henderson's Iceland. Edinb., 1819. Appendix 



"OBlbeaton's Ibtstorg of tbe Wortbmen 63 



that the fundamental rule in Icelandic poetry 
required that there should be three words in 
every couplet having the same initial letter, 
two of which should be in the former hemi- 
stich, and one in the latter. The following 
translation from Milton is furnished as a speci- 
men ; 

Fid that Film diup 
Kard annum slaega, 
^oloerk ^idleikat 
i?armi vitis a\ 
" Into this wild abyss the wary Fiend 
Stood on the brink of Hell and looked." 

As a specimen of the tales related by the 
Skalds, we may cite that of Sigurd and the 
beauteous Brynhilda, a royal virgin, who is 
described as living in a lonely castle, encircled 
by magic flames. 

In the Teutonic lay, Brynhilda is a mere 
mortal virgin ; but in the Icelandic poem she 
becomes a Valkyria, one of those demi-divini- 
ties, servants of Odin or Woden in the Gothic 
mythology, who were appointed to watch over 
the fate of battle, and were, as their name 
betokens, selectors of the slain. They were 
clothed in armor, and mounted on fleet horses, 
with drawn swords, and mingled in the shock 
of battle, choosing the warrior- victims, and 
conducting them to Valhalla, the hall of Odin, 



64 IReviews and /HMscellanfes 

where they joined the banquet of departed 
heroes, in carousals of mead and beer. 

The first interview of the hero and heroine is 
wildly romantic. Sigurd, journeying toward 
Franconia, sees a flaming light upon a lofty 
mountain ; he approaches it, and beholds a 
warrior in full armor asleep upon the ground. 
On removing the helmet of the slumberer, he 
discovers the supposed knight to be an Ama- 
zon. Her armor clings to her body, so that 
he is obliged to separate it with his sword. 
She then arises from her deathlike sleep, and 
apprises him that he has broken the spell by 
which she lay entranced. She had been 
thrown into this lethargic state by Odin, in 
punishment for having disobeyed his orders. 
In a combat between two knights, she had 
caused the death of him who should have had 
the victory. 

This romantic tale has been agreeably versi- 
fied by William Spencer, an elegant and ac- 
complished genius, who has just furnished the 
world with sufficient proofs of his talents to 
cause regret that they did not fall to the lot 
of a more industrious man. We subjoin the 
fragments of his poem cited by our author. 

" Oh, strange is the bower where Brynhilda reclines, 
Around it the watch-fire high bickering shines ! 
Her couch is of iron, her pillow a shield, 



Wbeaton's Ibistoig of tbe mortbmen 65 



And the maiden's chaste eyes are in deep slumber 

sealed ; 
Thy charm, dreadful Odin, around her is spread, 
From thy wand the dread slumber was poured on her 

head. 
Oh, whilom in battle so bold and so free, 
Like a Viking victorious she roved o'er the sea. 
The love-lighting eyes, which are fettered by sleep, 
Have seen the sea-fight raging fierce o'er the deep ; 
And 'mid the dread wounds of the dying and slain, 
The tide of destruction poured wide o'er the plain. 

" Who is it that spurs his dark steed at the fire ? 
Who is it, whose wishes thus boldly aspire 
To the chamber of shields, where the beautiful maid 
By the spell of the mighty All-Father is laid ? 
It is Sigurd the valiant, the slayer of kings, 
With the spoils of the Dragon, his gold and his rings." 

BRYNHIUJA. 



" Like a Virgin of the Shield I roved o'er the sea, 
My arm was victorious, my valor was free. 
By prowess, by Runic enchantment and song, 
I raised up the weak, and I beat down the strong ; 
I held the young prince 'mid the hurly of war, 
My arm waved around him the charmed scimitar ; 
I saved him in battle, I crowned him in hall, 
Though Odin and Fate had foredoomed him to fall : 
Hence Odin's dread curses were poured on my head ; 
He doomed the undaunted Brynhilda to wed. 
But I vowed the high vow which gods dare not gain- 
say, 
5 



66 IReviews ano Miscellanies 

That the boldest in warfare should bear me away : 

And full well I knew that thou, Sigurd, alone 

Of mortals the boldest in battle hast shone ; 

I knew that none other the furnace could stem 

(So wrought was the spell, and so fierce was the 

flame), 
Save Sigurd the glorious, the slayer of kings, 
With the spoils of the Dragon, his gold and his rings." 

The story in the original runs through sev- 
eral cantos, comprising varied specimens of 
those antique Gothic compositions, which, to 
use the words of our author, — 

"are not only full of singularly wild and beautiful 
poetry, and lively pictures of the manners and cus- 
toms of the heroic age of the ancient North, its patri- 
archal simplicity, its deadly feuds, and its fanciful 
superstition, peopling the earth, air, and waters with 
deities, giants, genii, nymphs, and dwarfs ; but there 
are many exquisite touches of the deepest pathos, 
to which the human heart beats in unison in every 
age and in every land." 

Many of these hyperborean poems, he re- 
marks, have an Oriental character and coloring 
in their subjects and imagery, their mythology 
and their style, bearing internal evidence of 
their having been composed in remote antiq- 
uity, and in regions less removed from the 
cradle of the human race than the Scandina- 



THIlbeatoirs Ibistorp of tbe IRortbmen 67 



vian North. ' ' The oldest of this fragmentary 
poetry," as he finely observes, "may be com- 
pared to the gigantic remains, the wrecks of 
a more ancient world, or to the ruins of Egypt 
and Hindostan, speaking a more perfect civili- 
zation, the glories of which have long since 
departed." 

Our author gives us many curious glances 
at the popular superstitions of the North, and 
those poetic and mythic fictions which per- 
vaded the great Scandinavian family of nations. 
The charmed armor of the warrior ; the dragon 
who keeps a sleepless watch over buried treas- 
ure ; the spirits or genii that haunt the rocky 
tops of mountains or the depths of quiet lakes ; 
and the elves or vagrant demons which wander 
through forests, or by lonely hills ; these are 
found in all the popular superstitions of the 
North. Ditmarus Blefkenius tells us that the 
Icelanders believed in domestic spirits, which 
woke them at night to go and fish ; and thai; 
all expeditions to which they were thus sum- 
moned were eminently fortunate. The water- 
sprites, originating in Icelandic poetry, may 
be traced throughout the north of Europe. 
The Swedes delight to tell of the Strbmkerl, or 
boy of the stream, who haunts the glassy 
brooks that steal gently through green mead- 
ows, and sits on the silver waves at moonlight, 



68 IReviews anD /DMscellanies 

playing his harp to the elves who dance on the 
flowery margin. Scarcely a rivulet in Ger- 
many also but has its Wasser-nixe, or water- 
witches, all evidently members of the great 
northern family. 

Before we leave this enchanted ground, we 
must make a few observations on the Runic 
characters, which were regarded with so much 
awe in days of yore, as locking up darker 
mysteries and more potent spells than the once 
redoubtable hierogh T phics of the Egyptians. 
The Runic alphabet, according to our author, 
consists properly of sixteen letters. Northern 
tradition attributes them to Odin, who, per- 
haps, brought them into Scandinavia, but they 
have no resemblance to any of the alphabets of 
Central Asia. Inscriptions in these characters 
are still to be seen on rocks and stone monu- 
ments in Sweden, and other countries of the 
North, containing Scandinavian verses in praise 
of their ancient heroes. They were also en- 
graved on arms, trinkets, amulets, and utensils, 
and sometimes on the bark of trees, and on 
wooden tablets, and for the purpose of memo- 
rials or of epistolary correspondence. In one 
of the Kddaic poems, Odin is represented as 
boasting the magic power of the Runic rhymes 
to heal diseases and counteract poison ; to spell- 
bind the arms of an enemy ; to lull the tempest ; 



mibeatoirs IFMstorg of tbe ttortbmen 69 



to stop the career of witches through the air ; 
to raise the dead, and extort from them the 
secrets of the world of spirits. The reader who 
may desire to see the letters of this all-potent 
alphabet, will find them in Mallet's Northern 
Antiquities. 

In his sixth chapter, Mr. Wheaton gives an 
account of the religion of Odin, and his migra- 
tion, with a colony of Scythian Goths, from 
the banks of the Tanais, in Asia, to the penin- 
sula of Scandinavia, to escape the Roman 
legions. Without emulating his minute and 
interesting detail, we will merely and briefly 
state some of the leading particulars, and refer 
the curious reader to the pages of his book. 

The expedition of this mythological hero is 
stated to have taken place about seventy years 
before the Christian era, when Pompey the 
Great, then consul of Rome, finished the war 
with Tigranes and Mithridates, and carried his 
victorious arms throughout the most important 
parts of Asia. We quote a description of the 
wonderful vessel Skidbladner , the ship of the 
gods, in which he made the voyage : 

" Skiddladner," said one of the genii, when interro- 
gated by Gangler, "is one of the best ships, and most 
curiously constructed. It was built by certain dwarfs, 
who made a present of it to Freyn. It is so vast that 
there is room to hold all the deities, with their armor. 



70 IReviews anfc /HMscellanfes 

As soon as the sails are spread, it directs its course, 
with a favorable breeze, wherever they desire to navi- 
gate ; and when they wish to land, such is its marvel- 
lous construction, that it can be taken to pieces, rolled 
up, and put in the pocket." "That is an excellent 
ship, indeed," replied Gangler, "and must have re- 
quired much science and magic art to construct." 
—P. 118. 

With this very convenient, portable, and 
pocketable ship, and a crew of Goths of the 
race of Sviar, called by Tacitus Suiones, the 
intrepid Odin departed from Scythia, to escape 
the domination of the Romans, who were 
spreading themselves over the world. He 
took with him also his twelve pontiffs, who 
were at once priests of religion and judges of 
the law. Whenever sea or river intervened, 
he launched his good ship Skidblad?ier, em- 
barked with his band, and sailed merrily over ; 
then landing, and pocketing the transport, he 
again put himself at the head of his crew, and 
marched steadily forward. To add to the facili- 
ties of these primitive emigrants, Odin was 
himself a seer and a magician. He could look 
into futurity ; could strike his enemies with 
deafness, blindness, and sudden panic ; could 
blunt the edge of their weapons, and render 
his own warriors invisible. He could trans- 
form himself into bird, beast, fish, or serpent, 






TOlbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe ttortbmen 71 

and fly to the most distant regions, while his 
body remained in a trance. He could, with a 
single word, extinguish fire, control the winds, 
and bring the dead to life. He carried about 
with him an embalmed and charmed head, 
which would reply to his questions, and give 
him information of what was passing in the 
remotest lands. He had, moreover, two most 
gifted and confidential ravens, who had the gift 
of speech, and would fly, on his behests, to the 
uttermost parts of the earth. We have only to 
believe in the supernatural powers of such a 
leader, provided with such a ship, and such an 
oracular head, attended by two such marvel- 
lously gifted birds, and backed by a throng of 
stanch and stalwart Gothic followers, and we 
shall not wonder that he found but little diffi- 
culty in making his way to the peninsula of 
Scandinavia, and in expelling the aboriginal in- 
habitants, who seem to have been but a diminu- 
tive and stunted race ; although there are not 
wanting fabulous narrators, who would fain 
persuade us there were giants among them. 
They were gradually subdued and reduced to 
servitude, or driven to the mountains, and sub- 
sequently to the desert wilds and fastnesses of 
Norrland, Lapland, and Finland, where they 
continued to adhere to that form of polytheism 
called Fetishism, or the adoration of birds and 



72 IRevtews ano /UMecellames 






beasts, stocks and stones, and all the animate 
and inanimate works of creation. 

As to Odin, he introduced into his new 
dominions the religion he had brought with 
him from the banks of the Tanais ; but, like 
the early heroes of most barbarous nations, 
he was destined to become himself an object 
of adoration ; for though to all appearance 
he died, and was consumed on a funeral pile, 
it was said that he was translated to the bliss- 
ful abode of Godheim, there to enjoy eternal 
life. In process of time it was declared, that, 
though a mere prophet on earth, he had been 
an incarnation of the Supreme Deity, and had 
returned to the sacred hall of Valhalla, the 
paradise of the brave, where, surrounded by 
his late companions in arms, he watched over 
the deeds and destinies of the children of men. 

The primitive people who had been con- 
quered by Odin and his followers, seem to 
have been as diminutive in spirit as in form, 
and withal a rancorous race of little vermin, 
whose expulsion from their native land awak- 
ens but faint sympathy ; yet candor compels 
us to add, that their conquerors are not much 
more entitled to our esteem, although their 
hardy deeds command our admiration. The 
author gives a slight sketch of the personal 
peculiarities which discriminated both, ex- 



"Gdbeaton's Ibistorg of the IRortbmen 73 



tracted from an Eddaic poem, and which is 
worthy of notice, as accounting, as far as the 
authority is respected, for some of the diversi- 
ties in feature and complexion of the Scandi- 
navian races. 

"The slave caste, descended from the aboriginal 
Finns, were distinguished from their conquerors by 
black hair and complexion. . . . The caste of 
freemen and freeholders, lords of the soil which they 
cultivated, and descended from the Gothic conquerors, 
had reddish hair, fair complexion, and all the traits 
which peculiarly mark that famous race, . 
while the caste of the illustrious Jarlsandthe Hersen, 
earls and barons, were distinguished by still fairer 
hair and skin, and by noble employments and man- 
ners : from these descended the kingly race, skilled 
in Runic science, in manly exercises, and the military 
art." 

The manners, customs, and superstitions of 
these northern people, which afterwards, with 
various modifications, pervaded and stamped 
an indelible character on so great a part of 
Europe, deserve to be more particularly men- 
tioned ; and we give a brief view of them, 
chiefly taken from the work of our author, 
and partly from other sources. The religion 
of the early Scandinavians taught the exist- 
ence of a Supreme Being, called Thor, who 
ruled over the elements, purified the air 






74 IRevuews anfc /Ibtscellanies 

with refreshing showers, dispensed health and 
sickness, wielded the thunder and lightning, 
and with his celestial weapon, the rainbow, 
launched unerring arrows at the evil demons. 
He was worshipped in a primitive but striking 
manner, amidst the solemn majesty of Nature, 
on the tops of mountains, in the depths of 
primeval forests, or in those groves which 
rose like natural temples on islands sur- 
rounded by the dark waters of lonely and 
silent lakes. They had, likewise, their minor 
deities, or genii, whom we have already men- 
tioned, who were supposed to inhabit the sun, 
the moon, and stars, — the regions of the air, 
the trees, the rocks, the brooks, and moun- 
tains of the earth, and to superintend the 
phenomena of their respective elements. 
They believed, also, in a future state of tor- 
ment for the guilty, and of voluptuous and 
sensual enjoyment for the virtuous. 

This primitive religion gave place to more 
complicated beliefs. Odin, elevated, as we 
have shown, into a divinity, was worshipped as 
the Supreme Deity, and with him was associ- 
ated his wife Freya ; from these are derived 
our Odensday — Wodensday or Wednesday — 
and our Freytag, or Friday. Thor, from 
whom comes Thursday, was now more limited 
in his sway, though he still bent the rainbow, 






lIGlbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe fflortbmen 



launched the thunderbolt, and controlled the 
seasons. These three were the principal dei- 
ties, and held assemblies of those of inferior 
rank and power. The mythology had also 
its devil, called L,oke, a most potent and 
malignant spirit, and supposed to be the cause 
of all evil. 

By degrees the religious rites of the north- 
ern people became more artificial and ostenta- 
tious ; they were performed in temples, with 
something of Asiatic pomp. Festivals were 
introduced of symbolical and mystic import, 
at the summer and the winter solstice, and 
at various other periods ; in which were typi- 
fied, not merely the decline and renovation of 
Nature and the changes of the seasons, but 
the epochs in the moral history of man. As 
the ceremonials of religion became more dark 
and mysterious, they assumed a cruel and 
sanguinary character ; prisoners taken in bat- 
tle were sacrificed by the victors, subjects by 
their kings, and sometimes even children by 
their parents. Superstition gradually spread 
its illusions over all the phenomena of Nature, 
and gave each some occult meaning : oracles, 
lots, auguries, and divination gained implicit 
faith ; and soothsayers read the decrees of fate 
in the flight of birds, the sound of thunder, 
and the entrails of the victim. Every man 



76 IReviews an& /MMscellantes 

was supposed to have his attendant spirit, his 
destiny, which it was out of his power to 
avert, and his appointed hour to die ; — Odin, 
however, could control or alter the destiny of 
a mortal, and defer the fatal hour. It was 
believed, also, that a man's life might be pro- 
longed if another would devote himself to 
death in his stead. 

The belief in magic was the natural attend- 
ant upon these superstitions. Charms and 
spells were practised, and the Runic rhymes, 
known but to the gifted few, acquired their 
reputation among the ignorant multitude, for 
an all-potent and terrific influence over the 
secrets of Nature and the actions and destinies 
of man. 

As war was the principal and the only noble 
occupation of these people, their moral code 
was suitably brief and stern. After profound 
devotion to the gods, valor in war was inculca- 
ted as the supreme virtue, cowardice as the 
deadly sin. Those who fell gloriously in war 
were at once transported to Valhalla, the airy 
hall of Odin, there to partake of the eternal 
felicities of the brave. Fighting and feasting, 
which had constituted their fierce joys on 
earth, were lavished upon them in this super- 
nal abode. Every day they had combats in the 
listed field, — the rush of steeds, the flash of 



•Qdbeaton's Ibtstorg of tbe Iftortbmen 77 



swords, the shining of lances, and all the mad- 
dening tumult and din of battle ; — helmets and 
bucklers were riven, — horses and riders over- 
thrown, and ghastly wounds exchanged ; but 
at the setting of the sun all was over ; victors 
and vanquished met unscathed in glorious 
companionship around the festive board of 
Odin in Valhalla's hall, where they partook of 
the ample banquet, and quaffed full horns of 
beer and fragrant mead. For the just who did 
not die in fight, a more peaceful but less glori- 
ous elysium was provided, — a resplendent 
golden palace, surrounded by verdant meads 
and shady groves and fields of spontaneous 
fertility. 

The early training of their youth was suited 
to the creed of this warlike people. In the 
tender days of childhood they were gradually 
hardened by athletic exercises, and nurtured 
through boyhood in difficult and daring feats. 
At the age of fifteen they were produced before 
some public assemblage, and presented with a 
sword, a buckler, and a lance ; from that time 
forth they mingled among men, and were ex- 
pected to support themselves by hunting or 
warfare. But though thus early initiated in 
the rough and dangerous concerns of men, 
they were prohibited all indulgence with the 
softer sex until matured in years and vigor. 



78 IRevtews anD Miscellanies 

Their weapons of offence were bow and 
arrow, battle-axe and sword ; and the latter 
was often engraved with some mystic charac- 
ters, and bore a formidable and vaunting name. 

The helmets of the common soldiery w 7 ere of 
leather, and their bucklers leather and wood ; 
but warriors of rank had helmets and shields 
of iron and brass, sometimes richly gilt and 
decorated ; and they wore coats of mail, and 
occasionally plated armor. 

A young chieftain of generous birth received 
higher endowments than the common class. 
Beside the hardy exercise of the chase and the 
other exercises connected with the use of arms, 
he was initiated betimes into the sacred science 
of the Runic writing, and instructed in the 
ancient lay, especially if destined for sov- 
ereignty, as every king was the pontiff of his 
people. When a prince had attained the age 
of eighteen, his father usually gave him a 
small fleet and a band of warriors, and sent 
him on some marauding voyage, from which 
it was disgraceful to return with empty hands. 

Such was the moral and physical training, 
of the Northmen, which prepared them for 
that wide and wild career of enterprise and 
conquest which has left its traces along all the 
coasts of Europe, and thrown communities and 
colonies, in the most distant regions, to remain 



llClbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe Iftortbmen 



themes of wonder and speculation in after ages. 
Actuated by the same roving and predatory 
spirit which had brought their Scythian an- 
cestors from the banks of the Tanais, and ren- 
dered daring navigators by their experience 
along the stormy coasts of the North, they soon 
extended their warlike roamings over the 
ocean, and became complete maritime marau- 
ders, with whom piracy at sea was equivalent 
to chivalry on shore, and a freebooting cruise to 
a heroic enterprise. 

For a time, the barks in w r hich they braved 
the dangers of the sea, and infested the coasts 
of England and France, were mere canoes, 
formed from the trunks of trees, and so light as 
readily to be carried on men's shoulders, or 
dragged along the land. With these they sud- 
denly swarmed upon a devoted coast, sailing up 
the rivers, shifting from stream to stream, and 
often making their way back to the sea by 
some different river from that they had as- 
cended. Their chiefs obtained the appellation 
of sea-kings, because, to the astonished inhabi- 
tants of the invaded coasts, they seemed to 
emerge suddenly from the ocean, and when 
they had finished their ravages, to retire again 
into its bosom as to their native home ; and 
they were rightly named, in the opinion of the 
author of " A Northern Saga," seeing that 



8o IReviews anD /flMscellanies 

their lives were passed upon the waves, and 
" they never sought shelter under a roof, or 
drained their drinking-horn at a cottage-fire." 

Though plunder seemed to be the main 
object of this wild ocean chivalry, they had 
still that passion for martial renown which 
grows up with the exercise of arms, however 
rude and lawless, and which in them was 
stimulated by the songs of the Skalds. 

We are told that they were ' ' sometimes 
seized with a sort of frenzy, a. furor Martis, 
produced by their excited imaginations dwell- 
ing upon the images of war and glory, and per- 
haps increased by those potations of stimulating 
liquors in which the people of the North, like 
other uncivilized tribes, indulged to great 
excess. When this madness was upon them, 
they committed the wildest extravagances, 
attacked indiscriminately friends and foes, and 
even waged war against the rocks and trees. 
At other times the}' defied each other to mortal 
combat in some lonely and desert isle." 

Among the most renowned of these early 
sea-kings was Ragnar Lodbrok, famous for his 
invasion of Northumbria, in England, and no 
less famous in ancient Sagas for his strange 
and cruel death. According to those poetic 
legends, he was a king of Denmark, who ruled 
his realms in peace without being troubled with 






IWlbeaton's Ibistoig ot tbe IRortbmen 81 



any dreams of conquest. His sons, however, 
were roving the seas with their warlike fol- 
lowers, and after a time tidings of their heroic 
exploits reached his court. The jealousy of 
Ragnar was excited, and determined on an 
expedition that should rival their achievements. 
He accordingly ordered the ' ' Arrow, ' ' the 
signal of war, to be sent through his dominions, 
summoning his "champions" to arms. He 
had ordered two ships of immense size to be 
built, and in them he embarked with his fol- 
fowers. His faithful and discreet queen, As- 
lauga, warned him of the perils to which he 
was exposing himself, but in vain. He set sail 
for the north of England, which had formerly 
been invaded by his predecessors. The expe- 
dition was driven back to port by a tempest. 
The queen repeated her warnings and entrea- 
ties, but finding them unavailing, she gave 
him a magical garment that had the virtue to 
render the wearer invulnerable. 

"Ragnar again put to sea, and was at last ship- 
wrecked on the English coast. In this emergency his 
courage did not desert him, but he pushed forward with 
his small band to ravage and plunder. Ella collected his 
forces to repel the invader. Ragnar, clothed with the 
enchanted garment he had received from his beloved 
Aslauga, and armed with the spear with which he had 
slain the guardian serpent of Thora, four times pierced 
the Saxon ranks, dealing death on every side, whilst 



82 Reviews anfc dfcisceUanies 






his own body was invulnerable to the blows of his 
enemies. His friends and champions fell one by one 
around him, and he was at last taken prisoner alive. 
Being asked who he was, he preserved an indignant 
silence. Then King Ella said, — 'If this man will 
not speak, he shall endure so much the heavier pun- 
ishment for his obduracy and contempt.' So he 
ordered him to be thrown into the dungeon full of 
serpents, where he should remain till he told his 
name. Ragnar, being thrown into the dungeon, sat 
there a long time before the serpents attacked him ; 
which being noticed by the spectators, they said he 
must be a brave man indeed whom neither arms nor 
vipers could hurt. Ella, hearing this, ordered his en- 
chanted vest to be stripped off, and soon afterwards, 
the sepents clung to him on all sides. Then Ragnar 
said, ' How the young cubs would roar if they knew 
what the old boar suffers ! ' and expired with a laugh 
of defiance."— Pp. 152, 153. 

The death-song of Ragnar Lodbrok will be 
found in an appendix to Henderson's Iceland, 
both in the original and in a translation. The 
version, however, which is in prose, conveys 
but faintly the poetic spirit of the original. It 
consists of twenty-nine stanzas, most of them of 
nine lines, and contains, like the death-song of 
a warrior among the American Indians, a 
boastful narrative of his expeditions and ex- 
ploits. Each stanza bears the same burden : 
" Hiuggom ver med hiarvi." 
" We hewed them with our swords." 



TKHbeaton's Ibtstorg of tbe IRortbmen 83 



Lodbrok exults that his achievements entitle 
him to admission among the gods ; predicts 
that his children shall avenge his death ; and 
glories that no sigh shall disgrace his exit. 
In the last stanza he hails the arrival of celes- 
tial virgins sent to invite him to the Hall of 
Odin, where he shall join the assembly of 
heroes, sit upon a lofty throne, and quaff the 
mellow beverage of barley. The last strophe 
of this death-song is thus rendered by Mr. 
Wheaton : 

" Cease my strain ! I hear Them call 
Who bid me hence to Odin's hall ! 
High seated in their blest abodes, 
I soon shall quaff the drink of gods. 
The hours of Life have glided by, — 
I fall ! but laughing will I die ! 
The hours of Life have glided by, — 
I fall ! but laughing will I die ! " 

The sons of Ragnar, if the Sagas may be 
believed, were not slow in revenging the death 
of their parent. They were absent from home 
on warlike expeditions at the time, and did not 
hear of the catastrophe until after their return 
to Denmark. Their first tidings of it were 
from the messengers of Ella, sent to propitiate 
their hostility. When the messengers entered 
the royal hall, they found the sons of Ragnar 
variously employed. Sigurdi Snakeseye was 



84 IReviews anD /flbiscellanies 

playing at chess with his brother Huitserk the 
Brave ; while Bjorn Ironside was polishing 
the handle of his spear in the middle pavement 
of the hall. The messengers approached to 
where Ivar, the other brother, was sitting, and, 
saluting him with due reverence, told him they 
were sent by King Ella to announce the death 
of his royal father. 

" As they began to unfold their tale, Sigurdi and 
Huitserk dropped their game, carefully weighing what 
was said. Bjorn stood in the midst of the hall, lean- 
ing on his spear ; but Ivar diligently inquired by 
what means, and by what kind of death, his father 
had perished ; which the messengers related, from his 
first arrival in England till his death. When, in the 
course of their narrative, they came to the words of 
the dying king, ' How the young whelps would roar 
if they knew their father's fate ! ' Bjorn grasped the 
handle of his spear so fast that the prints of his fingers 
remained ; and when the tale was done, dashed the 
spear in pieces. Huitserk pressed the chess-board so 
hard with his hands, that they bled. 

"Ivar changed color continually, now red, now 
black, now pale, whilst he struggled to suppress his 
kindling wrath. 

" Huitserk the Brave, who first broke silence, pro- 
posed to begin their revenge by the death of the 
messengers ; which Ivar forbade, commanding them 
to go in peace, wherever they would, and if they 
wanted anything they should be supplied. 

"Their mission being fulfilled, the delegates, pass- 



TKflbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe IRortbmen s 5 



ing through the hall, went down to their ships ; and 
the wind being favorable, returned safely to their 
king. Ella, hearing from them how his message had 
been received by the princes, said that he foresaw that 
of all the brothers, Ivar or none was to be feared." — 
Pp. 188, 189. 

The princes summoned their followers, 
launched their fleets, and attacked King Ella 
in the spring of 867. 

"The battle took place at York, and the Anglo- 
Saxons weie entirely routed. The sons of Ragnar 
inflicted a cruel and savage retaliation on Ella for his 
barbarous treatment of their father. 

" After this battle, Northumbria appears no more as 
a Saxon kingdom, and Ivar was made king over that 
part of England which his ancestors had possessed, 
or into which they had made repeated incursions." — 
Pp. 189, 190. 

Encouraged by the success that attended 
their enterprises in the northern seas, the 
Northmen now urged their adventurous prows 
into more distant regions, besetting the south- 
ern coasts of France with their fleets of light 
and diminutive barks. Charlemagne is said 
to have witnessed the inroad of one of their 
fleets from the windows of his palace, in the 
harbor of Narbonne ; upon which he lamented 
the fate of his successors, who would have to 
contend with such audacious invaders. They 



86 IReviews and /RMscellanies 

entered the Loire, sacked the city of Nantes, 
and carried their victorious arms up to Tours. 
They ascended the Garonne, pillaged Bor- 
deaux, and extended their incursion even to 
Toulouse. They also entered the Seine in 845, 
ravaging its banks, and pushing their enter- 
prise to the very gates of Paris, compelled the 
monarch Charles to take refuge in the monas- 
tery of St. Denis, where he was fain to receive 
the piratical chieftain, Regnier, and to pay 
him a tribute of 7000 pounds of silver, on 
condition of his evacuating his capital and 
kingdom. Regnier, besides immense booty, 
carried back to Denmark, as trophies of his 
triumph, a beam from the abbey of St. Ger- 
main, and a nail from the gate of Paris ; but 
his followers spread over their native country 
a contagious disease which they had contracted 
in France. 

Spain was, in like manner, subject to their 
invasions. They ascended the Guadalquivir, 
attacked the great city of Seville, and demol- 
ished its fortifications, after severe battles with 
the Moors, who were then sovereigns of that 
country, and who regarded these unknown in- 
vaders from the sea as magicians, on account 
of their wonderful daring and still more won- 
derful success. As the author well observes, 
1 ' The contrast between these two races of 



■UHbeatcn's Ibistorg of tbe IRortbmen 87 



fanatic barbarians, the one issuing forth from 
the frozen regions of the North, the other from 
the burning sands of Asia and Africa, forms 
one of the most striking pictures presented by 
history." 

The straits of Gibraltar being passed by 
these rovers of the North, the Mediterranean 
became another region for their exploits. 
Hastings, one of their boldest chieftains, and 
father of that Hastings who afterwards battled 
with King Alfred for the sovereignty of Eng- 
land, accompanied by Bjorn Ironside and 
Sydroc, two sous of Ragnar L,odbrok, under- 
took an expedition against Rome, the capital 
of the world, tempted by accounts of its opu- 
lence and splendor, but not precisely acquainted 
with its site. They penetrated the Mediterra- 
nean with a fleet of one hundred barks, and 
entered the port of Luna in Tuscany, an 
ancient city, whose high walls and towers and 
stately edifices made them mistake it for im- 
perial Rome. 

" The inhabitants were celebrating the festival of 
Christmas in the cathedral, when the news was spread 
among them of the arrival of a fleet of unknown 
strangers. The church was instantly deserted, and 
the citizens ran to shut the gates, and prepared to 
defend their town. Hastings sent a herald to inform 
the count and bishop of Luna that he and his band 



88 "Reviews an& d&iscellanies 

were Northmen, conquerors of the Franks, who 
designed no harm to the inhabitants of Italy, but 
merely sought to repair their shattered barks. In 
order to inspire more confidence, Hastings pretended 
to be weary of the wandering life he had so long led, 
and desired to find repose in the bosom of the Chris- 
tian Church. The bishop and the count furnished 
the fleet with the needful succor ; Hastings was bap- 
tized ; but still his Norman followers were not ad- 
mitted within the city walls. Their chief was then 
obliged to resort to another stratagem ; he feigned to 
be dangerously ill ; his camp resounded with the 
lamentations of his followers ; he declared his inten- 
tion of leaving the rich booty he had acquired to the 
Church, provided they would grant him sepulture in 
holy ground. The wild howl of the Normans soon 
announced the death of their chieftain. The inhabi- 
tants followed the funeral procession to the Church, 
but at the moment they were about to deposit his 
apparently lifeless body, Hastings started up from his 
coffin, and, seizing his sword, struck down the officiat- 
ing bishop. His followers instantly obeyed this signal 
of treachery ; they drew from under their garments 
their concealed weapons, massacred the clergy and 
others who assisted at the ceremony, and spread havoc 
and consternation throughout the town. Having thus 
become master of Luna, the Norman chieftain dis- 
covered his error, and found that he was still far from 
Rome, which was not likely to fall so easy a prey. 
After having transported on board his barks the 
wealth of the city, as well as the most beautiful 
women, and the young men capable of bearing 
arms or of rowing, he put to sea, intending to return 
to the North. 



TKHbeaton'5 Ibi&totu of tbe Hortbmen 89 



"The Italian traditions as to the destruction of this 
city resemble more nearly the romance of ' Romeo 
and Juliet,' than the history of the Scandinavian 
adventurer. According to these accounts, the prince 
of Luna was inflamed with the beauty of a certain 
young empress, then travelling in company with the 
emperor her husband. Their passion was mutual, 
and the two lovers had recourse to the following 
stratagem, in order to accomplish their union. The 
empress feigned to be grievously sick ; she was believed 
to be dead ; her funeral obsequies were duly cele- 
brated ; but she escaped from the sepulchre, and 
secretly rejoined her lover. The emperor had no 
sooner heard of their crime, than he marched to 
attack the residence of the ravisher, and avenged 
himself by the entire destruction of the once flourish- 
ing city of Luna. The only point of resemblance 
between these two stories consists in the romantic 
incident of the destruction of the city by means of a 
feigned death, a legend which spread abroad over 
Italy and France." 

The last and greatest of the sea-kings, or 
pirate heroes of the North, was Rollo, sur- 
narned Ferus Fortis, the L,usty Boar or Hardy 
Beast, from whom William the Conqueror 
comes in lineal, though not legitimate, descent. 
Our limits do not permit us to detail the early 
history of this warrior, as selected by our 
author from among the fables of the Norman 
chronicles, and the more simple, and, he thinks, 
more veritable narratives in the Icelandic Sagas. 



go IReviews an& /BMscellanies 

We shall merely state that Rollo arrived with 
a band of Northmen, all fugitive adventurers, 
like himself, upon the coast of France ; as- 
cended the Seine to Rouen, subjugated the 
fertile province then called Neustria ; named 
it Normandy from the Northmen, his followers, 
and crowned himself first Duke. 

" Under his firm and vigorous rule, the blessings of 
order and peace were restored to a country which had 
so long and so cruelly suffered from the incursions of 
the northern adventurers. He tolerated the Christians 
in their worship, and they flocked in crowds to live 
under the dominion of a Pagan and barbarian, in 
preference to their own native and Christian prince 
(Charles the Simple), who was unwilling or incapable 
to protect them. ' ' 

Rollo established in his duchy of Normandy 
a feudal aristocrac}^ or rather it grew out of 
the circumstances of the country. His followers 
elected him duke, and he made them counts 
and barons and knights. The clergy also 
pressed themselves into his great council or 
parliament. The laws were reduced to a sys- 
tem by men of acute intellect, and this system 
of feudal law was subsequently transplanted 
by William the Conqueror into England, as a 
means of consolidating his power and estab- 
lishing his monarchy. 

" Rollo is said also to have established the Court 



TKHbeaton 9 s Ibistorg ot tbe "Wortbmen 91 



of Exchequer as the supreme tribunal of justice ; and 
the perfect security afforded by the admirable system 
of police established in England by King Alfred is 
likewise attributed to the legislation of the first Duke 
of Normandy." — P. 252. 

Trial by battle, or judicial combat, was a 
favorite appeal to God by the warlike nations 
of Scandinavia, as by most of the barbarous 
tribes who established themselves on the ruins 
of the Roman empire. It had fallen into dis- 
use in France, but was revived by Rollo in 
Normandy, although the clergy were solicitous 
to substitute the ordeal of fire and water, which 
brought controversies within their control. 
The fierce Norman warriors disdained this 
clerical mode of decision, and strenuously in- 
sisted on the appeal to the sword. They after- 
wards, at the Conquest, introduced the trial by 
combat into England, where it became a part 
of the common law.* 

* A statue or effigy of Rollo, over a sarcophagus, is 
still to be seen in the cathedral at Rouen, with a Latin 
inscription stating that he was converted to Christi- 
anity in 913, and died in 917, and that his bones were 
removed to this spot from their place of original sepul- 
ture, in A.D. 1063. The ancient epitaph, in rhyming 
monkish Latin, has been lost, except the following 
lines : — 

Dux Normanorum 
Cunctorum, 



92 IReviews and /flMscellanies 

A spirit of chivalry and love of daring ad- 
venture, a romantic gallantry towards the sex, 
and a zealous devotion, were blended in the 
character of the Norman knights. These high 
and generous feelings they brought with them 
into England, and bore with them in their cru- 
sades into the Holy Land. Poetry also con- 
tinued to be cherished and cultivated among 
them, and the Norman troubadour succeeded 
to the Scandinavian skald. The Dukes of 
Normandy and Anglo-Norman kings were 
practisers as well as patrons of this delightful 
art ; and Henry I., surnamed Beauclerc., and 
Richard Cceur de Lion, were distinguished 
among the poetical composers of their day. 

Norma Bonorum. 

Rollo, Ferns fortis, 

Quen gens Normanica mortis 

Invocat articulo, 

Clauditur hoc tumulo. 

Imitation. 

Rollo, that hardy Boar 

Renowned of yore, 
Of all the Normans Duke : 
Whose name with dying breath 

In article of death, 
All Norman knights invoke ; 

That mirror of the bold, 

This tomb doth hold. 



Timbeatcm's Ibistorg of tbe IRortbmen 



" The Norman minstrel," to quote the words of our 
author, " appropriated the fictions they found already 
accredited among the people for whom they versified. 
The British King Arthur, his fabled knights of the 
Round Table, and the enchanter Merlin, with his 
wonderful prophecies ; the Frankish monarch Charle- 
magne and his paladins ; and the rich inventions of 
Oriental fancy borrowed from the Arabs and the 
Moors."— P. 262. 



We have thus cursorily accompanied our 
author in his details of the origin and charac- 
ter, the laws and superstitions, and primitive 
religion, and also of the roving expeditions 
and conquests of the Northmen ; and we give 
him credit for the judgment and candor and 
careful research with which he has gleaned 
and collated his interesting facts from the rub- 
bish of fables and fictions with which they were 
bewildered and obscured. 

Another leading feature in his work is the 
conversion of the Northmen, and the countries 
from which they came, to the Christian faith. 
An attempt to condense or analyze this part 
of his work would lead us too far, and do in- 
justice to the minuteness and accuracy of his 
details. We must, for like reasons, refer the 
reader to the work itself for the residue of its 
contents. We shall merely remark, that he 
goes over the same ground with the English 



94 IReviews an& jflfctscellanies 

historians, Hume, Turner, L,ingard, and Pal- 
grave, gleaning from the original authorities 
whatever may have been omitted by them. 
He has also occasionally corrected some errors 
into which they have fallen, through want of 
more complete access or more critical attention 
to the Icelandic sagas and the Danish and 
Swedish historians, who narrated the success- 
ful invasion of England by the Danes, under 
Canute, and its final conquest by William of 
Normandy. 

We shall take leave of our author with some 
extracts from the triumphant invasion of Wil- 
liam, premising a few words concerning his 
origin and early history. Robert Duke of Nor- 
mandy, called Robert the Magnificent by his 
flatterers, but more commonly known as Robert 
the Devil, from his wild and savage nature, 
had an amour with Arlette, the daughter of a 
tanner or currier of Falaise, in Normandy. 
The damsel gave birth to a male child, who 
was called William. While the boy was yet 
in childhood, Robert the Devil resolved to ex- 
piate his sins by a pilgrimage to the Holy 
Land ; and compelled his counts and barons 
to swear fealty to his son. ' ' Par ma foi, " said 
Robert, "jene vous laisserai point sans seig- 
neur. J'ai un petit batard qui grandira s'il 
plait a Dieu. Choisissez le des ce present, et 






Mbeaton's 1bi»torg of tbe ftortbmen 95 



je le saiserai devant vous de ce duche comme 
mon successeur." The Norman lords placed 
their hands between the hands of the child, 
and swore fidelity to him according to feudal 
usage. Robert the Devil set out on his pious 
pilgrimage, and died at Nice. The right of 
the boy William was contested by Guy, Count 
of Burgundy, and other claimants, but he 
made it good with his sword, and then con- 
firmed it by espousing Matilda, daughter of 
the Count of Flanders. 

On the death of Edward the Confessor, King 
of England, Harold, from his fleetness sur- 
named Harefoot, one of the bravest nobles of 
the realm, assumed the crown, to the exclusion 
of Edgar Atheling, the lawful heir. It was 
said that Edward had named Harold to suc- 
ceed him. William Duke of Normandy laid 
claim to the English throne. We have not 
room in this review to investigate his title, 
which is little more than bare pretention. He 
alleged that Edward the Confessor had prom- 
ised to bequeath to him the crown ; but his 
chief reliance was upon his sword. Harold, 
while yet a subject, had fallen by accident 
within the power of William, who had ob- 
tained from him, by cajolery and extortion, an 
oath, sworn on certain sacred relics, not to im- 
pede him in his plans to gain the English crown. 



96 IRevtews and /HMscellanies 



William prepared an expedition in Nor- 
mandy, and published a war-ban, inviting 
adventurers of all countries to join him in the 
invasion of England, and partake of the pillage. 
He procured a consecrated banner from the 
Pope under the promise of a portion of the 
spoil, and embarked a force of nearly sixty 
thousand men on board four hundred vessels 
and above a thousand boats. 

" The ship which bore William preceded the rest 
of the fleet, with the consecrated banner of the Pope 
displayed at the mast-head, its many-colored sails em- 
bellished with the lions of Normandy, and its prow 
adorned with the figure of an infant archer bending 
his bow and ready to let fly his arrow." 

William landed his force at Pevensey, near 
Hastings, on the coast of Sussex, on the 28th 
of September, 1066 ; and we shall state from 
the Norman chronicles some few particulars 
of this interesting event, not included in the 
volume under review. The archers disem- 1 
barked first, — they had short vestments and 
cropped hair ; then the horsemen, armed with ; 
coats of mail, caps of iron, straight two-edged': 
swords, and long powerful lances ; then the 
pioneers and artificers, who disembarked, piece : 
by piece, the materials for three wooden towers, ! 
all ready to be put together. The Duke was ! 



■Qdbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe IFlortbmen 97 



the last to land, for, says the chronicle, " there 
was no opposing enemy." King Harold was 
in Northumbria, repelling an army of Nor- 
wegian invaders. 

As William leaped on shore, he stumbled 
and fell upon his face. Exclamations of fore- 
boding were heard among his followers ; but 
he grasped the earth with his hands, and rais- 
ing them filled with it towards the heavens, 
" Thus," cried he, " do I seize upon this land, 
and by the splendor of God, as far as it ex- 
tends, it shall be mine." His ready wit thus 
converted a sinister accident into a favorable 
omen. Having pitched his camp and reared 
his wooden towers near to the town of Hastings, 
he sent forth his troops to forage and lay waste 
the country ; nor were even the churches and 
cemeteries held sacred to which the English 
had fled for refuge. 

Harold was at York, reposing after a victory 
over the Norwegians, in which he had been 
wounded, when he heard of this new invasion. 
Undervaluing the foe, he set forth instantly 
with such force as he could muster, though a 
few days' delay would have brought great rein- 
forcements. On his way he met a Norman 
monk, sent to him by William, with three al- 
ternatives : 1. To abdicate in his favor. 2. 
To refer their claims to the decision of the Pope. 

6 



98 IReviews and /UMscellanies 

3. To determine them by single combat. Har- 
old refused all three, and quickened his march ; 
but rinding as he drew nearer, that the Norman 
army was thrice the number of his own, he in- 
trenched his host seven miles from their camp, 
upon a range of hills, behind a rampart of pali- 
sades and osier hurdles. 

The impending night of the battle was passed 
by the Normans in warlike preparations, or in 
confessing their sins and receiving the sacra- 
ment and the camp resounded with the prayers 
and chantings of priests and friars. As to the 
Saxon warriors, they sat round their camp- 
fires, carousing horns of beer and wine, and 
singing old national war-songs. 

At an early hour in the morning of the 14th 
of October, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and bas- 
tard brother of the Duke, being a son of his 
mother Arlette, by a burgher of Falaise, cele- 
brated mass, and gave his benediction to the 
Norman army. He then put a hauberk under 
his cassock, mounted a powerful white charger, 
and led forth a brigade of cavalry ; for he was 
as ready with the spear as with the crosier, and 
for his fighting and other turbulent propen- 
sities, well merited his surname of Odo the 
Unruly. 

The army was formed into three columns ; 
one composed of mercenaries from the coun- 



IKHbeaton's Ibistoig ot tbe ftortbmen 99 



tries of Boulogne and Ponthieu ; the second of 
auxiliaries from Brittany and elsewhere ; the 
third of Norman troops, led by William in per- 
son. Each column was preceded by archers 
in light quilted coats instead of armor, some 
with long bows, and others with cross-bows of 
steel. Their mode of fighting was to discharge 
a flight of arrows, and then retreat behind the 
heavy armed troops. The Duke was mounted 
on a Spanish steed, around his neck were sus- 
pended some of the relics on w T hich Harold had 
made oath, and the consecrated standard was 
borne at his side. 

William harangued his soldiers, reminding 
them of the exploits of their ancestors, the 
massacre of the Northmen in England, and, in 
particular, the murder of their brethren the 
Danes. But he added another and a stronger 
excitement to their valor: "Fight manfully, 
and put all to the sword ; and if we conquer, 
we shall all be rich. What I gain, you gain ; 
what I conquer, you conquer ; if I gain the 
land, it is yours." We shall give in our au- 
thor's own words, the further particulars of 
this decisive battle, which placed a Norman 
sovereign on the English throne. 

"The spot which Harold had selected for this 
ever-memorable contest was a high ground, then 
called Senlac, nine miles from Hastings, opening to 



ioo IRevnews an& Miscellanies 

the south, and covered in the rear by an extensive 
wood. He posted his troops on the declivity of the 
hill in one compact mass, covered with their shields, 
and wielding their enormous battle-axes. In the cen- 
tre the royal standard, or gonfanon, was fixed in the 
ground, with the figure of an armed warrior, worked 
in thread of gold, and ornamented with precious 
stones. Here stood Harold, and his brothers Gurth 
and Leofwin, and around them the rest of the Saxon 
army, every man on foot. 

" As the Normans approached the Saxon intrench- 
ments, the monks and priests who accompanied their 
army retired to a neighboring hill to pray, and observe 
the issue of the battle. A Norman warrior, named 
Taillefer, spurred his horse in front of the line, and, 
tossing up in the air his sword, which he caught again 
in his hand, sang the national song of Charlemagne 
and Roland ; — the Normans joined in the chorus and 
shouted, ' Dieu aide ! Dieu aide ! ' They were an- 
swered by the Saxons, with the adverse cry of 4 Christ's 
rood ! the holy rood ! ' 

"The Norman archers let fly a shower of arrows 
into the Saxon ranks. Their infantry and cavalry 
advanced to the gates of the redoubts, which they 
vainly endeavored to force. The Saxons thundered 
upon their armor, and broke their lances with the 
heavy battle-axe, and the Normans retreated to the 
division commanded by William. The Duke then 
caused his archers again to advance, and to direct 
their arrows obliquely in the air, so that they might 
fall beyond and over the enemy's rampart. The Sax- 
ons were severely galled by the Norman missiles, and 
Harold himself was wounded in the eye. The attack 
of the infantry and men-at-arms again commenced 






TMlbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe IRortbmen roi 



with the cries of 'Notre-Dame ! Dieu aide ! Dieu aide ! ' 
But the Normans were repulsed, aud pursued by the 
Saxons to a deep ravine, where their horses plunged 
and threw the riders. The milke was here dreadful, 
and a sudden panic seized the invaders, who fled from 
the field, exclaiming that their duke was slain. Wil- 
liam rushed before the fugitives, with his helmet in 
hand, menacing and even striking them with his 
lance, and shouting with a loud voice : ' I am still 
alive, and with the help of God I still shall conquer ! ' 
The men-at-arms once more returned to attack the re- 
doubts, but they were again repelled by the impregna- 
ble phalanx of the Saxons. The Duke now resorted 
to the stratagem of ordering a thousand horse to ad- 
vance, and then suddenly retreat, in the hope of draw- 
ing the enemy from his entrenchments. The Saxons 
fell into the snare, and rushed out with their battle- 
axes slung about their necks, to pursue the flying foe. 
The Normans were joined by another body of their 
own army, and both turned upon the Saxons, who 
were assailed on every side with swords and lances, 
whilst their hands were employed in wielding their 
enormous battle-axes. The invaders now rushed 
through the broken ranks of their opponents into the 
intrenchments, pulled down the royal standard, and 
erected in its place the papal banner. Harold was 
slain, with his brothers Gurth and Leofwin. The sun 
declined in the western horizon, and with his retiring 
beams sunk the glory of the Saxon name. 

" The rest of the companions of Harold fled from 
the fatal field, where the Normans passed the night, 
exulting over their hard-earned victory. The next 
morning, William ranged his troops under arms, and 
every man who passed the sea was called by name, 



102 IReviews and Miscellanies 

according to the muster-roll drawn up before their 
embarkation at St. Valery. Many were deaf to that 
call. The invading army consisted originally of 
nearly sixty thousand men, and of these one fourth 
lay dead on the field. To the fortunate survivors was 
allotted the spoil of the vanquished Saxons, as the 
first-fruits of their victory ; and the bodies of the slain 
after being stripped, were hastily buried by their trem- 
bling friends. According to one narrative, the body 
of Harold was begged by his mother as a boon from 
William, to whom she offered as a ransom its weight 
in gold. But the stern and pitiless conqueror ordered 
the corpse of the Saxon king to be buried on the 
beach, adding, with a sneer, ' He guarded the coast 
while he lived, let him continue to guard it now he is 
dead.' Another account represents that two monks 
of the monastery of Waltham, which had been founded 
by the son of Godwin, humbty approached the Nor- 
man, and offered him ten marks of gold for permis- 
sion to bury their king and benefactor. They were 
unable to distinguish his body among the heaps of 
slain, and sent for Harold's mistress, Editha, surnamed 
'the Fair' and 'the Swan's Neck,' to assist them 
in the search. The features of the Saxon monarch 
were recognized by her whom he had loved, and his 
body was interred at Waltham, with regal honors, in 
the presence of several Norman earls and knights. " 

We have reached the conclusion of Mr. 
Wheaton's interesting volume, yet we are 
tempted to add a few words more from other 
sources. We would observe that there are 
not wanting historians who dispute the whole 



Mbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe Wortbmen 103 



story of Harold having fallen on the field of 
battle. "Years afterwards," we are told by 
one of the most curiously learned of English 
scholars, " when the Norman yoke pressed 
heavily upon the Knglish, and the battle of 
Hastings had become a tale of sorrow, which 
old men narrated by the light of the embers, 
until warned to silence by the sullen tolling 
of the curfew," there was an ancient ancho- 
rite, maimed and scarred and blind of an eye, 
who led a life of penitence and seclusion in a 
cell near the Abbey of St. John at Chester. 
This holy man was once visited by Henry I. , 
who held a long and secret discourse with 
him, and on his death-bed he declared to 
the attendant monks that he was Harold.* 
According to this account, he had been secretly 
conveyed from the field of battle to a castle, 
and thence to this sanctuary ; and the find- 
ing and burying of his corpse by the tender 
Editha is supposed to have been a pious fraud. 
The monks of Waltham, however, stood up 
stoutly for the authenticity of their royal 
relics. They showed a tomb, inclosing a 
mouldering skeleton, the bones of which still 
bore the marks of wounds received in battle, 
while the sepulchre bore the effigies of the 

*Palgrave, Hist. Eng., chap. 15. 



io4 TReviews an& Miscellanies 

monarch, and this brief but pathetic epitaph : 
1 ' Hie jacet Harold infelix. ' ' 

For a long time after the eventful battle of 
the Conquest, it is said that traces of blood 
might be seen upon the field, and, in partic- 
ular, upon the hills to the southwest of Hast- 
ings, whenever a light rain moistened the soil. 
It is probable they were discolorations of the 
soil, where heaps of the slain had been buried. 
We have ourselves seen broad and dark patches 
on the hill-side of Waterloo, where thousands 
of the dead lay mouldering in one common 
grave, and where, for several years after the 
battle, the rank green corn refused to ripen, 
though all the other part of the hill was cov- 
ered with a golden harvest. 

William the Conqueror, in fulfilment of a 
vow, caused a monastic pile to be erected on 
the field, which, in commemoration of the 
event, was called the "Abbey of Battle." 
The architects complained that there-were no 
springs of water on the site. "Work on! 
work on ! " replied he, jovially ; " if God but 
grant me life, there shall flow more good wine 
among the holy friars of this convent, than 
there does clear water in the best monastery 
of Christendom." 

The abbey was richly endowed, and in- 
vested with archiepiscopal jurisdiction. In its 



Tttllbeaton's Ibistorg of tbe IRortbmen 105 



archives was deposited a roll, bearing the 
names of the followers of William, among 
whom he had shared the conquered land. 
The grand altar was placed on the very spot 
where the banner of the hapless Harold had 
been unfurled, and here prayers were perpetu- 
ally to be offered up for the repose of all who 
had fallen in the contest. "All this pomp 
and solemnity," adds Mr. Palgrave, "has 
passed away like a dream ! The perpetual 
prayer has ceased forever ; the roll of battle is 
rent ; the escutcheons of the Norman lineages 
are trodden in the dust. A dark and reedy 
pool marks where the abbey once reared its 
stately towers, and nothing but the founda- 
tions of the choir remain for the gaze of the 
idle visitor, and the instruction of the mop- 
ing antiquary." 




Conquest of (Branafca* 

Review of a Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada, 
from the MSS. of Fray Antonio Agapida.* 

THERE are a few places scattered about 
this "working-day world " which seem ; 
to be elevated above its dull prosaic' 
level, and to be clothed with the magic' 
lights and tints of poetry. They possess a 
charmed name, the very mention of which, as if 
by fairy power, conjures up splendid scenes and 
pageants of the past ; summons from " death's 
dateless night ' ' the shadows of the great and' 
good, the brave and beautiful, and fills the' 
mind with visions of departed glory. Such is J 
pre-eminently the case with Granada, one of L 
the most classical names in the history of latter 

* Note by the Author. This review, published in: 
the London Quarterly Review for 1830, was written 
by the author at the request of his London publisher, 
to explain the real nature of his work, and its claim 
to historic truth. 

106 






Conquest of ©ranaoa 107 



jages. The very nature of the country and the 
iclimate contributes to bewitch the fancy. The 
I Moors, we are told, while in possession of the 
land, had wrought it up to a wonderful degree 
of prosperity. The hills were clothed with 
(orchards and vineyards, the valleys embroid- 
ered with gardens, and the plains covered with 
waving grain. Here were seen in profusion 
the orange, the citron, the fig, the pomegran- 
ate, and the silk-producing mulberry. The 
vine clambered from tree to tree, the grapes 
hung in rich clusters about the peasant's cot- 
tage, and the groves were rejoiced by the per- 
petual song of the nightingale. In a word, so 
beautiful was the earth, so pure the air, and so 
serene the sky of this delicious region, that the 
! Moors imagined the paradise of their prophet 
f to be situate in that part of the heaven which 
overhung their kingdom of Granada. 

But what has most contributed to impart to 
Granada a great and permanent interest, is the 
, ten years' war of which it was the scene, and 
which closed the splendid drama of Moslem 
domination in Spain. For nearly eight cen- 
turies had the Spaniards been recovering, 
piece by piece, and by dint of the sword, that 
territory which had been wrested from them 
by their Arab invaders in little more than as 
many months. The kingdom of Granada was 



108 IReviews and Miscellanies 

the last stronghold of Moorish power, and the 
favorite abode of Moorish luxury. The final 
struggle for it was maintained with desperate 
valor ; and the compact nature of the country, 
hemmed in by the ocean and by lofty moun- 
tains, and the continual recurrence of the 
names of the same monarchs and commanders 
throughout the war, give to it a peculiar dis- 
tinctness, and an almost epic unity. 

But though this memorable war had often 
been made the subject of romantic fiction, and 
though the very name possessed a spell upon 
the imagination, yet it had never been fully 
and distinctly treated. The world at large had 
been content to receive a strangely perverted 
idea of it, through Fiorian's romance of Gon- 
salvo ?f Cordova; or through the legend, 
equally fabulous, entitled The Civil Wars of 
Gra?iada, by Ginez Perez de la Hita, the pre- 
tended work of an Arabian contemporary, but 
in reality a Spanish fabrication.* It had been 

* The following censure on the work of La Hita is 
passed b} r old Padre Echevarria, in his Paseos por 
Granada or Walks through Granada. " Esta es una 
historia toda fabulosa, cuyo autor se ignora, por mas 
que corra con el nombre de alguno, llena de cuentos 
y quimeras, en la que apenas si hallaran seis verdades, 
y estas desfiguradas." Such is the true character of 
a work which has hitherto served as a fountain of 
historic fact concerning the conquest of Granada, 



Conquest of (Sranaoa 109 



woven over with love-tales and scenes of senti- 
mental gallantry, totally opposite to its real 
character, for it was, in truth, one of the stern- 
est of those iron contests which have been 
sanctified by the title of ' ' holy wars. ' ' In fact, 
the genuine nature of the war placed it far 
above the need of any amatory embellishments. 
It possessed sufficient interest in the striking 
contrast presented by the combatants, of Ori- 
ental and European creeds, costumes, and 
manners : and in the hardy and hare-brained 
enterprises, the romantic adventures, the pic- 
turesque forages through mountain regions, 
the daring assaults and surprisals of cliff-built 
castles and cragged fortresses, which succeeded 
each other with a variety and brilliancy beyond 
the scope of mere invention. 

The time of the conquest also contributed to 
heighten the interest. It was not long after 
the invention of gunpowder, when firearms 
and artillery mingled the flash, smoke, and 
thunder of modern warfare with the steely 
splendor of ancient chivalry, and gave an 
awful magnificence and terrible sublimity to 
battle ; and when the old Moorish towers and 
castles, that for ages had frowned defiance to 
the battering-rams and catapults of classic 
tactics, were toppled down by the lombards of 
the Spanish engineers. It was one of those 



no IReviews anO /nMscellanies 

cases in which history rises superior to fiction. 
The author seems to have been satisfied of this 
fact, by the manner in which he has con- 
structed the present work. The idea of it, we 
are told, was suggested to him while in Spain, 
occupied upon his History of the Life and 
Voyages of Columbus. The application of the 
great navigator to the Spanish sovereigns, for 
patronage to his project of discovery, was 
made during their crusade against the Moors 
of Granada, and continued throughout the 
residue of that war. Columbus followed the 
court in several of its campaigns, mingled 
occasionally in the contest, and was actually 
present at the grand catastrophe of the enter- 
prise, the surrender of the metropolis. The 
researches of Mr. Irving, in tracing the move- 
ments of his hero, led him to the various 
chronicles of the reign of Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella. He became deeply interested in the 
details of the war, and was induced, while col- 
lecting materials for the biography he had in 
hand, to make preparation also for the present 
history. He subsequent^ made a tour in 
Andalusia, visited the ruins of the Moorish 
towns, fortresses, and castles, and the wild 
mountain passes and defiles which had been 
the scenes of the most remarkable events of 
the war ; and passed some time in the ancient 



Conquest of (Branaoa 



palace of the Alhambra, once the favorite abode 
of the Moorish monarchs in Granada. It was 
then, while his mind was still excited by the 
romantic scenery around him, and by the 
chivalrous and poetical associations which 
throw a moral interest over every feature of 
Spanish landscape, that he completed these 
volumes. 

His great object appears to have been, to 
produce a complete and authentic body of facts 
relative to the war in question, but arranged 
in such a manner as to be attractive to the 
reader for mere amusement. He has, there- 
fore, diligently sought for his materials among 
the ancient chronicles, both printed and in 
manuscript, which were written at the time by 
eye-witnesses, and, in some instances, by per- 
sons w T ho had actually mingled in the scenes 
recorded. These chronicles were often diffuse 
and tedious, and occasionally discolored by the 
bigotry, superstition, and fierce intolerance of 
the age ; but their pages were illumined, at 
times, with scenes of high emprize, of romantic 
generosity, and heroic valor, which flashed 
upon the reader with additional splendor, from 
the surrounding darkness. It has been the 
study of the author to bring forth these scenes 
in their strongest light ; to arrange them in 
clear and lucid order ; to give them somewhat 



H2 IReviews and Miscellanies 

of a graphic effect, by connecting them with 
the manners and customs of the age in which 
they occurred, and with the splendid scenery 
amidst which they took place ; and thus, while 
he preserved the truth and chronological order 
of events, to impart a more impressive and 
entertaining character to his narrative, than 
regular histories are accustomed to possess. 
By these means his chronicle, at times, wears 
almost the air of romance ; yet the story is 
authenticated by frequent reference to existing 
documents, proving that he has substantial 
foundation for his most extraordinary inci- 
dents. 

There is, however, another circumstance, 
by which Mr. Irving has more seriously im- 
paired the ex-facie credibility of his narrative. 
He has professed to derive his materials from 
the manuscripts of an ancient Spanish monk, 
Fray Antonio Agapida, whose historical pro- 
ductions are represented as existing in dis- 
jointed fragments, in the archives of the 
Kscurial and other conventual libraries. He 
often quotes the very words of the venerable 
friar ; particularly when he bursts forth in 
exaggerated praises of the selfish policy or 
bigot zeal of Ferdinand; or chants, "with 
pious exultation, the united triumphs of the 
cross and the sword." This friar is manifestly 



Conquest of Granaoa 113 



a mere fiction — a stalking-horse, from behind 
which the author launches his satire at the 
intolerance of that persecuting age, and at the 
errors, the inconsistencies, and the self-delu- 
sions of the singular medley of warriors, saints, 
politicians, and adventurers engaged in that 
holy war. Fray Antonio, however, may be 
considered as an incarnation of the blind big- 
otry and zealot extravagance of the " good old 
orthodox Spanish chroniclers" ; and, in fact, 
his exaggerated sallies of loyalty and religion 
are taken, almost word for word, from the 
works of some one or other of the monkish 
historians. Still, though this fictitious per- 
sonage has enabled the author to indulge his 
satirical vein at once more freely and more 
modestly, and has diffused over his page some- 
thing of the quaintness of the cloister, and the 
tint of the country and the period, the use of 
such machinery has thrown a doubt upon the 
absolute verity of his history ; and it will take 
some time before the general mass of readers 
become convinced that the pretended manu- 
script of Fray Antonio Agapida is, in truth, a 
faithful digest of actual documents. 

The chronicle opens with the arrival of a 
Spanish cavalier at Granada, with a demand 
of arrears of tribute, on the part of Ferdinand 
and Isabella, from Muley Aben Hassan, the 



H4 IReviews anD dfciscellames 

Moorish king. This measure is well under- 
stood to have been a crafty device of Ferdi- 
nand. The tribute had become obsolete, and he 
knew it would be indignantly refused ; but he 
had set his heart on driving the Moors out of 
their last Spanish dominions, and he now 
sought a cause of quarrel. 

" Muley Aben Hassan received the cavalier in state, 
seated on a magnificent divan, and surrounded by the 
officers of his court, in the Hall of Ambassadors, one 
of the most sumptuous apartments of the Alhambra. 
When De Vera had delivered his message, a haughty 
and bitter smile curled the lip of the fierce monarch. 
'Tell your sovereigns,' said he, 'that the kings of 
Granada who used to pay tribute in mone}^ to the Cas- 
tilian crown are dead. Our mint at present coins 
nothing but blades of scimitars and heads of lances." 
— Vol. i., p. 10. 

The fiery old Moslem had here given a very 
tolerable pretext for immediate war ; yet King 
Ferdinand forbore to strike the blow. He was 
just then engaged in a contest with Portugal, 
the cause of which Mr. Irving leaves un- 
noticed, as irrelevant to his subject. It is, 
however, a curious morsel of history, involving 
the singular and romantic fortunes of the fair 
Juana of Castile, by many considered the right- 
ful heir to the crown. It is illustrative, also, 
of the manners of the age of which thischroni- 



Conquest of (Sranaoa 115 



cle peculiarly treats, and of the character and 
policy of the Spanish sovereign who figures 
thoughout its pages ; a brief notice of it, there- 
fore, may not be unacceptable. 

Henry IV. of Castile, one of the most imbe- 
cile of kings and credulous of husbands, had 
lived for five years in sterile wedlock with his 
queen, a gay and buxom princess of Portugal, 
when, at length, she rejoiced him by the birth 
of the Infanta Juana. The horn of the king 
was, of course, exalted on this happy occasion, 
but the whisper was diligently circulated about 
the court, that he was indebted for the tardy 
honors of paternity to the good offices of Don 
Beltran de Cuevas, Count of Ledesma, a 
youthful and gallant cavalier, who had enjoyed 
the peculiar favor and intimacy of the queen. 
The story soon took wind, and became a theme 
of popular clamor. Henry, however, with the 
good easy faith, or passive acquiescence of an 
imbecile mind, continued to love and honor his 
queen, and to lavish favors on her paramour, 
whom he advanced in rank, making him his 
prime minister, and giving him the title of 
Duke of Albuquerque. Such blind credulity 
is not permitted, in this troublesome world, to 
kings more than to common men. The public 
were furious ; civil commotions took place ; 
Henry was transiently deposed, and was 



n6 IRevuewB and dlMscellanfee 

only reinstated in his royal dignity, on sign- 
ing a treaty, by which he divorced his wife, 
disowned her child, and promised to send them 
both to Portugal. His connubial faith ul- 
timately revived, in defiance of every trial, 
and on his death-bed he recognized the In- 
fanta Juana as his daughter and legitmate 
successor. The public, however, who will not 
allow even kings to be infallible judges incases 
of the kind, persisted in asserting the illegiti- 
macy of the Infanta ; and gave her the name of 
La Beltra?iaja, in allusion to her supposed 
father, Don Beltran.* No judicial investiga- 
tion took place, but the question was decided 
as a point of faith, or a notorious fact ; and the 
youthful princess, though of great beauty and 
merit, was set aside, and the crown adjudged 
to her father's sister, the renowned Isabella. 

It should be observed, however, that the 
charge of illegitimacy is maintained principally 
by Spanish writers ; the Portuguese historians 
reject it as a calumny. Even the classic Mari- 
ana expresses an idea that it might have been 
an invention or exaggeration, founded on the 
weakness of Henry IV. and the amorous tem- 
perament of his queen, f and artfully devised 
to favor the views of the crafty Ferdinand, who 

* Pulgar, Chron. delos Reyes Catolicos, c. i, note A. 
f Mariana, lib. xxii., c. 20. 



% 
Conquest of (Sranaoa 117 



laid claim to the crown as the rightful inheri- 
tance of his spouse, Isabella. 

Young, beautiful, and unfortunate, the dis- 
carded princess was not long in want of a cham- 
pion in that heroic age. Her mother's brother, 
the brave Alonzo V. of Portugal, surnamed El 
Lidiador, or the Combatant, from his exploits 
against the Moors of Africa, stepped forward 
as her vindicator, and marched into Spain at 
the head of a gallant army, to place her on the 
throne. He asked her hand in marriage, and 
it was yielded. The espousals were publicly 
solemnized at Placentia, but were not consum- 
mated, the consanguinity of the parties obliging 
them to wait for a dispensation from the Pope. 

All the southern provinces of Castile, with a 
part of Galicia, declared in favor of Juana, and 
town after town yielded to the arms or the per- 
suasion of Alonzo, as he advanced. The ma- 
jority of the kingdom, however, rallied round 
the standard of Ferdinand and Isabella. The 
latter assembled their warrior nobles at Valla- 
dolid, and amidst the chivalrous throng that 
appeared glittering in arms was Don Beltran, 
Duke of Albuquerque, the surmised father of 
Juana. His predicament was singular and 
delicate. If, in truth, the father of Juana, nat- 
ural affection called upon him to support her 
interests ; if she were not his child, then she 



u8 IReviews anD /foiscellaniee 

had an unquestionable right to the crown, and 
it was his duty, as a true cavalier, to support 
her claim. It is even said that he had pledged 
himself to Alonzo, to stand forth in loyal adher- 
ence to the virgin queen ; but when he saw the 
array of mailed w T arriors and powerful nobles 
that thronged round Ferdinand and Isabella, 
he trembled for his great estates, and tacitly 
mingled with the crowd.* The gallant inroad 
of Alonzo into Spain was attended with many 
vicissitudes ; he could not maintain his footing 
against the superior force of Ferdinand, and 
being defeated in a decisive battle, between 
Zamora and Toro, was obliged to retire from 
Castile. He conducted his beautiful and yet 
virgin bride into Portugal, where she was re- 
ceived as queen with great acclamations. There 
leaving her in security, he repaired to France, 
to seek assistance from Louis XI. During this 
absence, Pope Sixtus IV. granted the dispen- 
sation for his marriage. It was cautiously 
worded, and secretly given, that it might es- 
cape the knowledge of Ferdinand, until carried 
into effect. It authorized the king of Portugal 
to marry any relative not allied to him in the 
first degree of consanguinity, but avoided 
naming the bride .f 

* Pulgar, part ii., cap. 22. 
fZurita, Annates. 



Conquest of (Branaoa 119 



The negotiation of Alonzo at the court of 
France was protracted during many weary 
months, and was finally defeated by the supe- 
rior address of Ferdinand. He returned to 
Portugal, to forget his vexations in the arms 
of his blooming bride ; but even here he was 
again disappointed by the crafty intrigues of 
his rival. The pliant pontiff had been prevailed 
upon to issue a patent bull, overruling his pre- 
vious dispensation, as having been obtained 
without naming both of the persons to be 
united in marriage, and as having proved the 
cause of wars and bloodshed.* The royal pair 
were thus obliged to meet in the relations of 
uncle and niece, instead of husband and wife. 
Peace was finally negotiated by the intervention 
of friends, on the condition that Donna Juana 
should either take the veil and become a nun, or 
should be wedded to Don Juan, the infant son 
and heir of Ferdinand and Isabella, as soon as he 
should arrive at a marriageable age: This sin- 
gular condition, w T hich would place her on the 
throne from which she had been excluded, has 
been adduced as a proof of her legitimate right. 

Alonzo V. was furious, and rejected the 
treaty ; but Donna Juana shrunk from being 
any longer the cause of war and bloodshed, 
and determined to devote herself to celibacy 

*Zurita. 



120 IReviews an& Miscellanies 

and religion. All the entreaties of the king 
were of no avail ; she took the irrevocable 
vows, and, exchanging her royal robes for the 
humble habit of a Franciscan nun, entered the 
convent of Santa Clara, with all the customary 
solemnities ; not having 3 T et completed her 
nineteenth year, and having been four years a 
virgin wife. All authors concur in giving her 
a most amiable and exemplary character ; and 
Garibay says " she was named, for her virtues, 
La Excellenta, and left a noble example to the 
world. Her retirement," he adds, " occasioned 
great affliction to King Alonzo, and grief to 
many others, who beheld so exquisite a lady 
reduced to such humility."* 

The king, in a transport of tender melan- 
choly, took a sudden resolution, characteristic 
of that age, when love and chivalry and reli- 
gion were strangely intermingled. Leaving 
his capital on a feigned pretence, he repaired 
to a distant city, and there, laying aside his 
royal state, set forth on a pilgrimage to Jerusa- 
lem, attended merely by a chaplain and two 
grooms. He had determined to renounce the 
pomp, and glories, and vanities of the world ; 
and, after humbling himself at the holy sepul- 
chre, to devote himself to a religious life. He 
sent back one of his attendants, with letters, 

* Garibay, Compend. Hist., lib. xxxv., cap. 19. 



Conquest of (Sranaoa 121 



in which he took a tender leave of Donna 
Juana, and directed his son to assume the 
crown. His letters threw the court into great 
affliction ; his son was placed on the throne, 
but several of the ancient courtiers set out 
in pursuit of the pilgrim king. They over- 
took him far on his journey, and prevailed 
on him to return and resume his sceptre, which 
was dutifully resigned to him by his son. 
Still restless and melancholy, Alonzo after- 
wards undertook a crusade for the recovery 
of the holy sepulchre, and proceeded to Itaty 
with a fleet and army ; but was discouraged 
from the enterprise by the coldness of Pope 
Pius II. He then returned to Portugal ; and 
his love melancholy reviving in the vicinity 
of Donna Juana, he determined, out of a kind 
of romantic sympathy, to imitate her example, 
and to take the habit of St. Francis. His 
sadness and depression, however, increased 
to such a degree as to overwhelm his forces, 
and he died, in 1481, at Cintra, in the chamber 
in which he was born.* 

We cannot close the brief record of this 
romantic story without noticing the subse- 
quent fortunes of Donna Juana. She resided 
in the monastery of Santa Anna, with the 
seclusion of a nun, but the state of a princess. 

*Faria y Sousa, Hist. Portugal, pt. iii., cap. 13. 



122 fReriews an£> /HMscellanies 

The fame of her beauty and her worth drew 
suitors to the cloisters ; and her hand was 
solicited by the youthful king of Navarre, 
Don Francisco Phebus, surnamed the Hand- 
some. His courtship, however, was cut short 
by his sudden death, in 1483, which was sur- 
mised to have been caused by poison.* For 
six-and-twenty } T ears did the royal nun con- 
tinue shut up in holy seclusion from the world. 
The desire of youth and the pride of beauty 
had long passed away, when suddenly, in 
1505, Ferdinand himself, her ancient enemy, 
the cause of all her sorrows and disappoint- 
ments, appeared as a suitor for her hand. 
His own illustrious queen, the renowned 
Isabella, was dead, and had bequeathed her 
hereditary crown of Castile to their daughter, 
for whose husband, Philip I., he had a jealous 
aversion. It was supposed that the crafty 
and ambitious monarch intended, after mar- 
rying Juana, to revive her claim to that throne, 
from which his own hostility had excluded 
her. His conduct in this instance is another 
circumstance strongly in favor of the lawful 
right of Juana to the crown of Castile. The 
vanity of the world, however, was dead in the 
tranquil bosom of the princess, and the gran- 
deur of a throne had no longer attraction in 

* Abarca, Reyes de Aragon, Rey. 30, cap. 2. 



Conquest of <3ranaoa 123 

her eyes. She rejected the suit of the most 
politic and perfidious of mouarchs ; and, con- 
tinuing faithful to her vows, passed the re- 
mainder of her days in the convent of Santa 
Anna, where she died in all the odor of holi- 
ness, and of immaculate and thrice-proved 
virginity, which had passed unscorched even 
through the fiery ordeal of matrimony. 

To return to Mr. Irving' s narrative. Ferdi- 
nand having successfully terminated the war 
with Portugal, and seated himself and Isabella 
firmly on the throne of Castile, turned his 
attention to his contemplated project — the 
conquest of Granada. His plan of operations 
was characteristic of his cautious and crafty 
nature. He determined to proceed step by 
step, taking town after town, and fortress after 
fortress, before he attempted the Moorish cap- 
ital. " I will pick out the seeds of this pome- 
granate one by one," said the wary monarch, 
in allusion to Granada, — the Spanish name 
both for the kingdom and the fruit. The 
intention of the Catholic sovereign did not 
escape the eagle eye of old Muley Aben 
Hassan. Being, however, possessed of great 
treasures, and having placed his territories 
in a warlike posture, and drawn auxiliary 
troops from his allies, the princes of Barbary, 
he felt confident in his means of resistance. 



124 IReviews ano /DMscellanies 

His subjects were fierce of spirit, and stout 
of heart — inured to the exercises of war, 
and patient of fatigue, hunger, thirst, and 
nakedness. Above all, they were dexterous 
horsemen, whether heavily armed and fully 
appointed, or lightly mounted a la geneta, 
with merely lance and target. Adroit in all 
kinds of stratagems, impetuous in attack, 
quick to disperse, prompt to rally and to 
return like a whirlwind to the charge, they 
were considered the best of troops for daring 
inroads, sudden scourings, and all kinds of 
partisan warfare. In fact, they have be- 
queathed their wild and predatory spirit to 
Spain ; and her bandaleros, her contraban- 
dists, and her guerrillas, her marauders of 
the mountain, and scamperers of the plain, 
may all be traced back to the belligerent era 
of the Moors. 

The truce which had existed between the 
Catholic sovereign and the king of Granada 
contained a singular clause, characteristic of 
the wary and dangerous situation of the two 
neighboring nations, with respect to each other. 
It permitted either party to make sudden in- 
roads and assaults upon towns and fortresses, 
provided they were done furtively and by strat- 
agem, without display of banner or sound of 
trumpet, or regular encampment, and that they 



Conquest of (Branaoa 125 



did not last above three days. This gave rise to 
frequent enterprises of a hardy and adventurous 
character, in which castles and strongholds 
were taken by surprise, and carried sword in 
hand. Monuments of these border scourings, 
and the jealous watchfulness awakened by 
them, may still be seen by the traveller in 
every part of Spain, but particularly in Anda- 
lusia. The mountains which formed the barri- 
ers of the Christian and Moslem territories are 
still crested with ruined watch-towers, where 
the helmed and turbaned sentinels kept a look- 
out on the Vega of Granada, or the plains of 
the Guadalquivir. Every rugged pass has its 
dismantled fortress, and every town and village, 
and even hamlet, the mountain or valley, its 
strong tower of defence. Even on the beau- 
tiful little stream of the Guadayra, which now 
winds peacefully among flowery banks and 
groves of myrtles and oranges, to throw itself 
into the Guadalquivir, the Moorish mills, 
which have studded its borders for centuries, 
have each its battlemented tower, where the 
miller and his family could f ake refuge until 
the foray which swept the plains, and made 
hasty sack and plunder in its career, had 
passed away. Such was the situation of Moor 
and Spaniard in those days, when the sword 
and spear hung ready on the wall of every 



126 IRevicws ant) /HMsceUanies 

cottage, and the humblest toils of husbandry 
were performed with the weapon close at 
hand. 

The outbreaking of the war of Granada is in 
keeping with this picture. The fierce old king, 
Muley Aben Hassan, had determined to anti- 
cipate his adversary, and strike the first blow. 
The fortress of Zahara was the object of his 
attack ; and the description of it ma}* serve 
for that of many of those old warrior towns 
which remain from the time of the Moors, built, 
like eagle-nests, among the wild mountains of 
Andalusia. 

"This important post was on the frontier, between 
Ronda and Medina Sidonia, and was built on the crest 
of a rocky mountain, with a strong castle perched 
above it, upon a cliff so high that it was said to be 
above the flight of birds or drift of clouds. The 
streets, and many of the houses, were mere excava- 
tions, wrought out of the living rock. The town had 
but one gate, opening to the west, and defended by 
towers and bulwarks. The only ascent to this cragged 
fortress was by roads cut in the rock, and so rugged 
as in many places to resemble broken stairs. Such 
was the situation of the mountain fortress of Zahara, 
which seemed to set all attack at defiance, insomuch 
that it had become so proverbial throughout Spain, 
that a woman of forbidding and inaccessible virtue 
was called a Zaharena. But the strongest fortress and 
sternest virtue have their weak points, and require 



Conquest of (Branaoa 127 



unremitting vigilance to guard them : let warrior and 
dame take warning from the fate of Zahara." 

Muley Aben Hassan made a midnight attack 
upon this fortress during a howling wintry 
storm, which had driven the very sentinels 
from their posts. He scaled the walls, and 
gained possession of both town ^nd castle 
before the garrison were roused to arms. Such 
of the inhabitants as made resistance were cut 
down, the rest w T ere taken prisoners, and 
driven, men, women, and children, like a herd 
of cattle, to Granada. 

The capture of Zahara was as an electric 
shock to the chivalry of Spain. Among those 
roused to action was Don Rodrigo Ponce de 
I^eon, Marquis of Cadiz, who is worthy of par- 
ticular notice as being the real hero of the 
war. Florian has assigned this honor, in his 
historical romance, to Gonsalvo of Cordova, 
surnamed the Great Captain, who, in fact, per- 
formed but an inferior part in these campaigns. 
It was in the subsequent war of Italy that he 
acquired his high renown. Rodrigo Ponce de 
I>on is a complete exemplification of the 
Spanish cavalier of the olden time. Temper- 
ate, chaste, vigilant, and valorous ; kind to 
his vassals, frank towards his equals, faithful 
and loving to his friends, terrible, yet magnani- 



128 IReviews and /HMscellanies 

mous to his enemies ; contemporary histo- 
rians extol him as the mirror of chivalry, and 
compare him to the immortal Cid. His ample 
possessions extended over the most fertile parts 
of Andalusia, including many towns and for- 
tresses. A host of retainers, ready to follow 
him to danger or to death, fed in his castle 
hall, which waved with banners taken from the 
Moors. His armories glittered with helms and 
cuirasses,, and weapons of all kinds, ready bur- 
nished for use, and his stables were filled with 
hardy steeds trained to a mountain scamper. 
This ready preparation arose not merely from 
his residence on the Moorish border ; he had 
a formidable foe near at hand, in Juan de Guz- 
man, Duke of Medina Sidonia, one of the most 
wealthy of Spanish nobles. We shall notice 
one or two particulars of his earlier life, which 
our author has omitted, as not within the scope 
of his chronicle, but which would have given 
additional interest to some of its scenes. An 
hereditary feud subsisted between these two 
noblemen ; and as Ferdinand and Isabella had 
not yet succeeded in their plan of reducing 
the independent and dangerous power of the 
nobles of Spain, the whole province of Andalu- 
sia was convulsed by their strife. They waged 
war against each other like sovereign princes, 
regarding neither the authority of the crown 



Conquest of (Sranaoa 129 



nor the welfare of the country. Every fortress 
and castle became a stronghold of their parti- 
sans, and a kind of club law prevailed over the 
land, like the faust recht once exercised by the 
robber counts of German}^. The sufferings of 
the province awakened the solicitude of Isa- 
bella, and brought her to Seville, where, seated 
on a throne in a great hall of the Alcazar or 
Moorish palace, she held an open audience to 
receive petitions and complaints. The nobles 
of the province hastened to do her homage. 
The Marquis of Cadiz alone did not appear. 
The Duke of Medina Sidonia accused him of 
having been treasonably in the interest of 
Portugal, in the late war of the succession ; of 
exercising tyrannical sway over certain royal 
domains ; of harassing the subjects of the 
crown with his predatory bands, and keeping 
himself aloof in warlike defiance, in his fortified 
city of Xeres. The continued absence of the 
marquis countenanced these charges, and they 
were reiterated by the relations and dependants 
of the Duke, who thronged and controlled the 
ancient city of Seville. The indignation of the 
queen was roused, and she determined to re- 
duce the supposed rebel by force of arms. 
Tidings of these events were conveyed to Ponce 
delyeon, and roused him to vindicate his honor 
with frankness and decision. He instantly set 



130 "Reviews and /DMscellanies 

off from Xeres, attended by a single servant . 
Spurring across the country, and traversing 
the hostile city, he entered the palace by a 
private portal, and penetrating to the apartment 
of the queen, presented himself suddenly be- 
fore her. 

"Behold me here, most potent sovereign!" ex- 
claimed he, "to answer any charge in person. I 
come not to accuse others, but to vindicate myself ; 
not to deal in words, but in deeds. It is said that I 
hold Xeres and Alcala fortified and garrisoned, in 
defiance of your authority : send and take possession 
of them, for they are yours. Do you require my 
patrimonial hereditaments? From this chamber I 
will direct their surrender ; and here I deliver up my 
very person into your power. As to the other charges, 
let investigation be made ; and if I stand not clear 
and loyal, impose on me whatever pain or penalty 
you may think proper to inflict." * 

Isabella saw in the intrepid frankness of the 
marquis strong proof of innocence, and declared, 
that had she thought him guilty, his gallant 
confidence would have insured her clemency. 
She took possession of the fortresses surren- 
dered, but caused the duke to give up equally 
his military posts, and to free Seville from 
these distracting contests, ordered either chief 
to dwell on his estate. Such was the feud 

* Pulgar, c. 70, etc. 



Conquest of Oranaoa 131 



betwixt these rival nobles at the time when 
the old Moorish king captured and sacked 
Zahara. 

The news of this event stirred up the warrior 
spirit of Ponce de Leon to retaliation. He 
sent out his scouts, and soon learnt that the 
town of Alhama was assailable. "This was 
a large, wealthy, and populous place, which, 
from its strong position on a rocky height, 
within a few leagues of the Moorish capital, 
had acquired the appellation of the ' Key of 
Granada.' ' The marquis held conference 
with the most important commanders of Anda- 
lusia, excepting the Duke of Medina Sidonia, 
his deadly foe, and concerted a secret march 
through the mountain passes to Alhama, which 
he surprised and carried. We forbear to follow 
the author in his detail of this wild and perilous 
enterprise, the success of which struck deep 
consternation in the Moors of Granada. The 
exclamation of " Ay de mi, Alhama ! — Woe is 
me, Alhama ! " was in every mouth. It has 
become the burden of a mournful Spanish 
ballad, supposed of Moorish origin, which has 
been translated b}^ Lord Byron. 

The Marquis of Cadiz and his gallant com- 
panions, now in possession of Alhama, were 
but a handful of men, in the heart of an ene- 
my's country, and were surrounded by a power- 



132 "Reviews anD dfciscellames 

ful army, led by the fierce King of Granada. 
They despatched messengers to Seville and Cor- 
dova, describing their perilous situation, and 
imploring aid. Nothing could equal the an- 
guish of the Marchioness of Cadiz on hearing 
of the danger of her lord. She looked round 
in her deep distress for some powerful noble, 
competent to raise the force requisite for his 
deliverance. No one was so competent as the 
Duke of Medina Sidonia. To man}*, however, 
he would have seemed the last person to whom 
to apply ; but she judged of him by her own 
high and generous mind, and did not hesitate. 
The event showed how well noble spirits 
understand each other. 

" He immediately despatched a courteous letter to 
the marchioness, assuring her that, in consideration 
of the request of so honorable and estimable a lady, 
and to rescue from peril so valiant a cavalier as her 
husband, whose loss would be great, not only to 
Spain, but to all Christendom, he would forego the 
recollection of all past grievances and hasten to his 
relief. The duke wrote at the same time to the al- 
caydes of his towns and fortresses, ordering them to 
join him forthwith at Seville, with all the force they 
could spare from their garrisons. He called on all the 
chivalry of Andalusia to make a common cause in the 
rescue of those Christian cavaliers ; and he offered 
large pay to all volunteers who would resort to him 
nth horses, armor, and provisions. Thus all who 



Conquer t of Oranaoa 133 



could be incited by honor, religion, patriotism, or 
thirst of gain, were induced to hasten to his standard ; 
and he took the field with an army of five thousand 
horse and fifty thousand foot." 

Ferdinand was in church at Medina del 
Campo when he heard of the achievement and 
the peril of his gallant cavaliers, and set out 
instantly to aid in person in their rescue. He 
wrote to the Duke of Medina Sidonia to pause 
for him on the frontier ; but it was a case of 
life and death : the duke left a message to that 
effect for his sovereign, and pressed on his un- 
ceasing march. He arrived Justin time, when 
the garrison, reduced to extremity by incessant 
skirmishes and assaults, and the want of water, 
and resembling skeletons rather than living 
men, were on the point of falling into the 
hands of the enemy. Muley A ben Hassan, 
who commanded the siege in person, tore his 
beard when his scouts brought him word of 
their arrival. 

" They had seen from the heights the long columns 
and flaunting banners of the Christian army approach- 
ing through the mountains. To linger would be to 
place himself between two bodies of the enemy. 
Breaking up his camp, therefore, in all haste, he gave 
up the siege of Alhama, and hastened back to Gra- 
nada ; and the last clash of his cymbals scarce died 
upon the ear from the distant hills, before the stand- 
ard of the Duke of Medina Sidonia was seen emerging 



i34 IRexuews anfc /Miscellanies 

in another direction from the defiles of the moun- 
tains. ... It was a noble and gracious sight to 
behold the meeting of those two ancient foes, the 
Duke of Medina Sidonia and the Marquis of Cadiz. 
When the marquis beheld his magnanimous deliverer 
approaching, he melted into tears : all past animosities 
only gave the greater poignancy to present feelings 
of gratitude and admiration ; they clasped each other 
in their arms ; "and from that time forward, were true 
and cordial friends." 

Having duly illustrated these instances of 
chivalrous hardihood and noble magnanimity, 
the author shifts his scene from the Christian 
camp to the Moslem hall, and gives us a peep 
into the interior of the Alhambra, and the 
domestic policy of the Moorish monarch s. 
The old King of Granada was perplexed, not 
merely with foreign wars, but with family 
feuds, and seems to have evinced a kind of 
tiger character in both. He had several wives, 
two of whom were considered as sultanas, or 
queens. One, named Ayxa, was of Moorish 
origin, and surnamed La Horra, or The Chaste, 
from the purity of her manners. Fatima, the 
other, had been originally a Christian captive, 
and was called from her beaut}', Zoroya, or The 
Light of Dawn. The former had given birth 
to his eldest son, Abdalla, or Boabdil, com- 
monly called El Chico, or The Younger ; and 
the latter had brought him two sons. Zoroya 



Conquest of (3ranaoa 135 



abused the influence that her youth and beauty 
gave her over the hoary monarch, inducing 
him to repudiate the virtuous Ayxa, and ex- 
citing his suspicions against Boabdil to such a 
degree that he determined upon his death. It 
was the object of Zoroya, by these flagitious 
means, to secure the succession for one of her 
own children. 



" The Sultana Ayxa was secretly apprised of the 
cruel design of the old monarch. She was a woman 
of talents and courage, and, by means of her female 
attendants, concerted a plan for the escape of her son. 
A faithful servant was instructed to wait below the 
Alhambra, in the dead of the night, on the banks of 
the river Darro, with a fleet Arabian courser. The 
sultana, when the castle was in a state of deep repose, 
tied together the shawls and scarfs of herself and her 
female attendants, and lowered the youthful prince 
from the tower of Comares. He made his way in 
safety down the steep rocky hill to the banks of the 
Darro, and, throwing himself on the Arabian courser, 
was thus spirited off to the city of Guadix. Here he 
lay for some time concealed, until gaining adherents, 
he fortified himself in the place, and set his tyrant 
father at defiance. Such was the commencement of 
those internal feuds which hastened the downfall of 
Granada. The Moors became separated into two hos- 
tile factions, headed by the father and the son, and 
several bloody encounters took place between them ; 
yet they never failed to act with all their separate 
force against the Christians, as a common enemy." 



136 IRevuews and dfoiscellanies 

It is proper in this place to remark, that the 
present chronicle gives an entirely different 
character to Boabdil from that by which he is 
usually described. It says nothing of his 
alleged massacre of the Abencerrages, nor of 
the romantic story of his jealous persecution 
and condemnation of his queen, and her vindi- 
cation in combat by Christian knights. The 
massacre, in fact, if it really did take place, 
was the deed of his tiger-hearted father ; the 
story of the queen is not to be found in any 
contemporary chronicle, either Spanish or 
Arabian, and is considered by Mr. Irving as a 
mere fabrication. Boabdil appears to have 
been sometimes rash, at other times irresolute 
but never cruel. 

As a specimen of the predatory war that pre- 
vailed about the borders, we would fain make 
some extracts from a foray of the old Moorish 
king into the lands of the Duke of Medina 
Sidonia, who had foiled him before Alhama ; 
but this our limits forbid. It ends trium- 
phantly for Muley Hassan ; and Boabdil el 
Chico, in consequence, found it requisite for 
his popularity to strike some signal blow 
that might eclipse the brilliant exploits of 
the rival king, his father. He was in the 
flower of his age, and renowned at joust 
and tourne3 r , but as yet unproved in the field 



Conquest ot <Sranaoa 137 



of battle. He was encouraged to make a dar- 
ing inroad into the Christian territories by 
the father of his favorite sultana, Ali Atar, 
alcayde of Loxa, a veteran warrior, ninety 
years of age, whose name was the terror of 
the borders. 

" Boabdil assembled a brilliant army of nine thou- 
sand foot and seven hundred horse, comprising the 
most illustrious and valiant of the Moorish chivalry. 
His mother, the Sultana Ayxa la Horra, armed him 
for the field, and gave him her benediction as she 
girded his cimetar to his side. His favorite wife, 
Morayma, wept as she thought of the evils that might 
befall him. ' Why dost thou weep, daughter of Ali 
Atar?' said the high-minded Ayxa; 'these tears be- 
come not the daughter of a warrior, nor the wife of a 
king. Believe me, there lurks more danger for a 
monarch within the strong walls of a palace, than 
within the frail curtains of a tent. It is by perils in 
the field that thy husband must purchase security on 
his throne.' But Morayma still hung upon his neck, 
with tears and sad forebodings ; and when he departed 
from the Alhambra, she betook herself to her mirador, 
which looks out over the Vega, whence she watched 
the army as it passed in shining order along the road 
that leads to Loxa ; and every burst of warlike melody 
that came swelling on the breeze was answered by a 
gush of sorrow. . . . 

"At Loxa, the royal army was reinforced by old 
Ali Atar, with the chosen horsemen of his garrison, 
and many of the bravest warriors of the border towns. 
The people of Loxa shouted with exultation when 



138 IReviews and Miscellanies 

they beheld Ali Atar armed at all points, and once 
more mounted on his Barbary steed, which had often 
borne him over the borders. The veteran warrior, 
with nearly a century of years upon his head, had all 
the fire and animation of a youth at the prospect of a 
foray, and careered from rank to rank with the velocity 
of an Arab of the desert. The populace watched the 
army as it paraded over the bridge, and wound into 
the passes of the mountains ; and still their eyes were 
fixed upon the pennon of Ali Atar, as it bore with it 
an assurance of victory." 

The enemy has scarcely had a day's ravage 
in the Christian land, when the alarm-fires 
give notice that the Moor is over the border. 
Our limits do not permit us to give this picture 
of the sudden rising of a frontier in those times 
of Moorish inroad. We pass on to the scene 
of action, when the hardy Count de Cabra 
came up with the foe, having pressed fearlessly 
forward at the head of a handful of household 
troops and retainers. 

" The Moorish king descried the Spanish forces at 
a distance, although a slight fog prevented his seeing 
them distinctly and ascertaining their numbers. His 
old father-in-law, Ali Atar, was by his side, who, be- 
ing a veteran marauder, was well acquainted with all 
the standards and armorial bearings of the frontiers. 
When the king beheld the ancient and long-disused 
banner of Cabra emerging from the mist, he turned to 
Ali Atar, and demanded whose ensign it was. The 
old borderer was for once at a loss, for the banner had 



Conquest of (Branaoa 139 



not been displayed in battle in his time. ' Sire ' re- 
plied he, after a pause, ' I have been considering that 
standard, but do not know it. It appears to be a dog, 
which is a device borne by the towns of Baeza and 
Ubeda. If it be so, all Andalusia is in movement 
against you ; for it is not probable that auy single 
commander or community would venture to attack 
you. I would advise you, therefore, to retire.' 

"The Count of Cabra, in winding down the hill 
towards the Moors, found himself on a much lower 
station than the enemy. He therefore ordered, in all 
haste, that his standard should be taken back, so as 
to gain the vantage-ground. The Moors, mistaking 
this for a retreat, rushed impetuously towards the 
Christians. The latter, having gained the height 
proposed, charged down upon them at the same mo- 
ment, with the battle-cry of ' Santiago ! ' and, dealing 
the first blows, laid many of the Moorish cavaliers in 
the dust. 

"The Moors, thus checked in their tumultuous as- 
sault, were thrown into confusion, and began to give 
way, — the Christians following hard upon them. 
Boabdil el Chico endeavored to rally them. 'Hold! 
hold ! for shame ! ' cried he ; 'let us not fly, at least 
until we know our enemy ! ' The Moorish chivalry 
was stung by this reproof, and turned to make front, 
with the valor of men who feel that they are fighting 
under their monarch's eye. At this moment, Lorenzo 
de Porres, alcayde of Luque, arrived with fifty horse 
and one hundred foot, sounding an Italian trumpet 
from among a copse of oak-trees, which concealed his 
force. The quick ear of old Ali Atar caught the note. 
'That is an Italian trumpet,' said he to the king; 
'the whole world seems in arms against your ma- 



140 IReviews ano /IMscellanies 

jesty ! ' The trumpet of Lorenzo de Porres was 
answered by that of the Count de Cabra in another 
direction ; and it seemed to the Moors as if they were 
between two armies. Don Lorenzo, sallying from 
among the oaks, now charged upon the enemy. The 
latter did not wait to ascertain the force of this new 
foe. The confusion, the variety of alarms, the attacks 
from opposite quarters, the obscurity of the fog, all 
conspired to deceive them as to the number of their 
adversaries. Broken and dismayed, they retreated 
fighting ; and nothing but the presence and remon- 
strances of the king prevented their retreat from 
becoming a headlong flight." 

The skirmishing retreat lasted for about 
three leagues ; but on the banks of the Min- 
gonzalez the rout became complete. The 
result is related by a fugitive from the field : 

"The sentinels looked out from the watch-towers 
of Loxa, along the valley of the Xenil, which passes 
through the mountains. They looked, to behold the 
king returning in triumph, at the head of his shining 
host, laden with the spoil of the unbeliever. They 
looked, to behold the standard of their warlike idol, 
the fierce Ali Atar, borne by the chivalry of Loxa, 
ever foremost in the wars of the border. 

"In the evening of the 21st of April, they descried 
a single horseman, urging his faltering steed along 
the banks of the river. As he drew near, they per- 
ceived, by the flash of arms, that he was a warrior ; 
and, on nearer approach, by the richness of his armor 
and the caparison of his steed, they knew him to be a 
warrior of rank. 



Conquest of (Branaoa 141 



"He reached Loxa faint and aghast; his Arabian 
courser covered with foam, and dust, and blood, pant- 
ing and staggering with fatigue, and gashed with 
wounds. Having brought his master in safety, he 
sank down and died, before the gate of the city. The 
soldiers at the gate gathered round the cavalier, as he 
stood, mute and melancholy, by his expiring steed. 
They knew him to be the gallant Cidi Caleb, nephew 
of the chief alfaqui of the albaycen of Granada. 
When the people of Loxa beheld this noble cavalier 
thus alone, haggard and dejected, their hearts were 
filled with fearful forebodings. 

" ' Cavalier/ said they, 'how fares it with the king 
and army ! ' He cast his hand mournfully towards 
the land of the Christians. ' There they lie ! ' ex- 
claimed he ; 'the heavens have fallen upon them ! all 
are lost — all dead ! ' 

"Upon this there was a great cry of consternation 
among the people, and loud wailings of women ; for 
the flower of the youth of Loxa were with the army. 
An old Moorish soldier, scarred in many a border 
battle, stood leaning on his lance by the gateway. 
'Where is Ali Atar?' demanded he eagerly. 'If he 
still live, the army cannot be lost.' 

" ' I saw his turban cleft by the Christian sword,' 
replied Cidi Caleb. ' His body is floating in the Xenil.' 

" When the soldier heard these words, he smote 
his breast and threw dust upon his head ; for he was 
an old follower of Ali Atar." 

The unfortunate Boabdil was conducted a 
captive to Vaena, a frontier town among the 
mountains ; and the ruined towers of the old 



142 IReviews anD Miscellanies 

time-worn castle are still pointed out to the 
traveller in which he was held in honorable 
durance by the hardy Count de Cabra. Ferdi- 
nand at length liberated him, on stipulation 
of an ample tribute and vassalage, with mili- 
tary service to the Castilian crown. It was 
his policy to divide the Moors, by fomenting a 
civil war between the two rival kings ; and 
his foresight was justified by the result. The 
factions of the father and the son broke forth 
again with redoubled fury, and Moor was 
armed against Moor, instead of uniting against 
the common foe. 

Muley Aben Hassan became infirm through 
vexation as well as age, and blindness was 
added to his other calamities. He had, how- 
ever, a brother, named Abdalla, but generally 
called El Zagal, or the Valiant, younger, of 
course, than himself, yet well stricken in years, 
who was alike distinguished for cool judgment 
and fiery courage, and for most of the other 
qualities which form an able general. This 
chief, whose martial deeds run through the 
present history, became the ruler of his broth- 
er's realm, and was soon after raised by accla- 
mation to the throne, even before the ancient 
king's decease, which shortly followed, and not 
without suspicion of foul play. The civil war, 
which had commenced between father and son, 



Conquest of (Sranaoa 143 



was kept up between uncle and nephew. The 
latter, though vacillating and irresolute, was 
capable of being suddenly aroused to prompt 
and vigorous measures. The voice of the 
multitude, changeful as the winds, fluctuated 
between El Chico and El Zagal, according as 
either was successful ; and in depicting the fre- 
quent, and almost ludicrous vicissitudes of 
their power and popularity, the author has in- 
dulged a quiet vain of satire on the capricious 
mutability of public favor. 

The varied and striking scenes of daring 
foray and mountain maraud, of military pomp 
and courtly magnificence, which occur through- 
out the work, make selection difficult. The fol- 
lowing extract shows the splendor of a Spanish 
camp, and the varied chivalry assembled from 
different Christian powers : 

11 Great and glorious was the style with which the 
Catholic sovereigns opened another year's campaign 
of this eventful war. It was like commencing another 
act of a stately and heroic drama, where the curtain 
rises to the inspiring sound of martial melody, and the 
whole stage glitters with the array of warriors and the 
pomp of arms. The ancient city of Cordova was the 
place appointed by the sovereigns for the assemblage 
of the troops ; and, early in the spring of 1486, the fair 
valley of the Guadalquivir resounded with the shrill 
blast of trumpet and the impatient neighing of the 
war-horse. In this splendid era of Spanish chivalry, 



144 IReviews anfc /BMscellanies 

there was a rivalship among the nobles, who most 
should distinguish himself by the splendor of his ap- 
pearance and the number and equipments of his feudal 
followers. . . . Sometimes they passed through 
the streets of Cordova at night, in cavalcade, with 
great numbers of lighted torches, the rays of which, 
falling upon polished armor, and nodding plumes, and 
silken scarfs, and trappings of golden embroidery, 
filled all beholders with admiration. But it was not 
the chivalry of Spain alone which thronged the streets 
of Cordova. The fame of this war had spread through- 
out Christendom ; it was considered a kind of crusade, 
and Catholic knights from all parts hastened to sig- 
nalize themselves in so holy a cause. There were sev- 
eral valiant chevaliers from France, among whom the 
most distinguished was Gaston du Leon, seneschal of 
Toulouse. With him came a gallant train, well armed 
and mounted, and decorated with rich surcoats and 
penaches of feathers. These cavaliers, it is said, eclipsed 
all others in the light festivities of the court. They 
were devoted to the fair ; but not after the solemn and 
passionate manner of the Spanish lovers ; they were 
gay, gallant, and joyous in their amours, and capti- 
vated by the vivacity of their attacks. They were at 
first h :ld in light estimation by the grave and stately 
Spanish knights, until they made themselves to be 
respected by their wonderful prowess in the field. 

"The most conspicuous of the volunteers, however, 
who appeared in Cordova on this occasion, was an 
English knight, of royal connection. This was the 
Lord Scales, Earl of Rivers, related to the Queen of 
England, wife of Henry VII. He had distinguished 
himself, in the preceding year, at the battle of Bos- 
worth Field, were Henry Tudor, then Earl of Rich- 



Conquest of (Branaoa 145 



mond, overcame Richard III. That decisive battle 
having left the country at peace, the Earl of Rivers, 
retaining a passion for warlike scenes, repaired to the 
Castilian court, to keep his arms in exercise in a cam- 
paign against the Moors. He brought with him a 
hundred archers, all dexterous with the long-bow and 
the cloth-yard arrow ; also two hundred yeomen, 
armed cap-a-pie, who fought with pike and battle-axe, 
— men robust of frame, and of prodigious strength. 
The worthy Padre Fray Antonio Agapida describes 
this stranger knight and his followers with his accus- 
tomed accuracy and minuteness. ' This cavalier,' he 
observes, ' was from the island of England, and brought 
with him a train of his vassals ; men who had been 
hardened in certain civil wars which had waged in 
their country. They were a comely race of men, but 
too fair and fresh for warriors, — not having the sun- 
burnt, martial hue of our old Castilian soldiery. They 
were huge feeders, also, and deep carousers ; and could 
not accommodate themselves to the sober diet of our 
troops, but must fain eat and drink after the manner 
of their own country. They were often noisy and un- 
ruly, also, in their wassail ; and their quarter of the 
camp was prone to be a scene of loud revel and sudden 
brawl. They were withal of great pride ; yet it was 
not like our inflammable Spanish pride ; they stood 
not much upon the pundonor and high punctilio, and 
rarely drew the stiletto in their disputes ; but their 
pride was silent and contumelious. Though from a 
remote and somewhat barbarous island, they yet be- 
lieved themselves the most perfect men upon earth ; 
and magnified their chieftain, the Lord Scales, beyond 
the greatest of our grandees. With all this, it must 
be said of them that they were marvellous good men 



146 IReviews anD fl&tecellanles 

in the field, dexterous archers, and powerful with the 
battle-axe. In their great pride and self-will, they 
always sought to press in the advance, and take the 
post of danger, trying to outvie our Spanish chivalry. 
They did not rush forward fiercely, or make a brilliant 
onset, like the Moorish and Spanish troops, but they 
went into the fight deliberately, and persisted obsti- 
nately, and were slow to find out when they were 
beaten. Withal, they were much esteemed, yet little 
liked, by our soldiery, who considered them stanch 
companions in the field, yet coveted but little fellow- 
ship with them in the camp. Their commander, the 
I^ord Scales, was an accomplished cavalier, of gracious 
and noble presence, and fair speech. It was a marvel 
to see so much courtesy in a knight brought up so far 
from our Castilian court. He was much honored by 
the king and queen, and found great favor with the fair 
dames about the court ; who, indeed are rather prone 
to be pleased with foreign cavaliers. He went always 
in costly state, attended by pages and esquires, and 
accompanied by noble young cavaliers of his country, 
who had enrolled themselves under his banner, to 
learn the gentle exercise of arms. In all pageants and 
festivals, the eyes of the populace were attracted by 
the singular bearing and rich array of the English 
earl and his train, who prided themselves in always 
appearing in the garb and manner of their country ; 
and were, indeed, something very magnificent, delec- 
table, and strange to behold.' " 

Ferdinand led this gallant army to besiege 
I/>xa, a powerful city on the Moorish frontier, 
before which he had formerly been foiled. 



Conquest of ©ranaoa 147 



The assault was made in open day, by a de- 
tachment which had been thrown in the ad- 
vance, and which was bravely and fiercely met 
and repelled by the Moors. 

" At this critical juncture, King Ferdinand emerged 
from the mountains with the main body of the army, 
and advanced to an eminence commanding a full view 
of the field of action. By his side was the noble 
English cavalier, the Earl of Rivers. This was the 
first time he had witnessed a scene of Moorish war- 
fare. He looked with eager interest at the chance- 
medley fight before him, — the wild career of cavalry, 
the irregular and tumultuous rush of infantry, and 
Christian helm and Moorish turban intermingling in 
deadly struggle. His high blood mounted at the 
sight ; and his very soul was stirred within him by the 
confused war-cries, the clangor of drums and trum- 
pets, and the reports of arquebuses, that came echoing 
up the mountains. Seeing the king was sending a 
reinforcement to the field, he entreated permission to 
mingle in the affray, and fight according to the fash- 
ion of his country. His request being granted, he 
alighted from his steed. He was merely armed en 
bianco ; that is to say, with morion, backpiece, and 
breastplate ; his sword was girded by his side, and in 
his hand he wielded a powerful battle-axe. He was 
followed by a body of his yeomen, armed in like 
manner, and by a band of archers, with bows made 
of tough English yew-tree. The earl turned to his 
troops, and addressed them briefly and bluntly, ac- 
cording to the manner of his country. ' Remember, 
my merry men all,' said he, 'the eyes of strangers 



148 IReviews anfc /DMscellantes 

are upon you ; you are in a foreign land, fighting for 
the glory of God and the honor of merry old Eng- 
land ! ' A loud shout was the reply. The earl waved 
his battle-axe over his head. 'St. George for Eng- 
land ! ' cried he ; and, to the inspiring sound of this 
old English war-cry, he and his followers rushed 
down to the battle, with, manly and courageous 
hearts. 

" The Moors were confounded by the fury of these 
assaults, and gradually fell back upon the bridge ; the 
Christians followed up their advantage, and drove 
them over it tumultuously. The Moors retreated into 
the suburbs, and Lord Rivers and his troops entered 
with them pell-mell, fighting in the streets and in the 
houses. King Ferdinand came up to the scene of 
action with his royal guard, and the infidels were all 
driven within the city walls. Thus were the suburbs 
gained by the hardihood of the English lord, without 
such an event having been premeditated." 



Various striking events marked the progress 
of the war, — ingenious and desperate manoeu- 
vres on the part of El Zagal, and persevering 
success in the well-judged policy of Ferdinand. 
A spell of ill-fortune seemed to surround the 
old Moorish king ever since the suspicious 
death of his brother and predecessor, Muley 
Aben Hassan, which was surmised to have 
been effected through his connivance ; and his 
popularity sunk with his versatile subjects. 
The Spaniards at length laid siege to the 



Conquest of ©ranaoa 149 



powerful city of Baza, the key to all the re- 
maining possessions of El Zagal. The peril 
of the Moorish kingdom of Granada resounded 
now throughout the East. The Grand Turk, 
Bajazet II., and his deadly foe the Grand 
Soldan of Egypt, or of Babylon, as he is 
termed by the old chroniclers, suspended their 
bloody feuds to check this ruinous war. A 
singular embassy from the latter of these po- 
tentates now entered the Spanish camp. 

" While the holy Christian army was beleaguering 
the infidel city of Baza, there rode into the camp one 
day two reverend friars of the order of St. Francis. 
One was of portly person and authoritative air. He 
bestrode a goodly steed, well conditioned and well 
caparisoned ; while his companion rode behind him 
upon a humble hack, poorly accoutred, and, as he rode 
he scarcely raised his eyes from the ground, but 
maintained a meek and lowly air. The arrival of two 
friars in the camp was not a matter of much note ; for 
in these holy wars the church militant continually 
mingled in the affray, and helmet and cowl were al- 
ways seen together ; but it was soon discovered that 
these worthy saints errant were from a far country, 
and on a mission of great import. They were, in 
truth, just arrived from the Holy Land, being two of 
the saintly men who kept vigil over the sepulchre of 
our blessed Lord at Jerusalem. He of the tall and 
portly form and commanding presence, was Fray 
Antonio Millan, prior of the Franciscan convent in 
the Holy City. He had a full and florid countenance, 



150 IRevuews anfc dIMscellanies 

a sonorous voice, and -was round, and swelling, and 
copious, in his periods, like one accustomed to 
harangue, and to be listened to with deference. His 
companion was small and spare in form, pale of vis- 
age, and soft, and silken, and almost whispering, in 
speech. 'He had a humble and lowly way,' says 
Agapida ; ' evermore bowing the head, as became one 
of his calling. Yet he was one of the most active, 
zealous, and effective brothers of the convent ; andj 
when he raised his small black eye from the earth, 
there was a keen glance out of the corner, which 
showed that, though harmless as a dove, he was 
nevertheless as wise as a serpent.' These holy men 
had come, on a momentous embassy, from the Grand 
Soldan of Egypt, who, as head of the whole Moslem 
sect, considered himself bound to preserve the king- 
dom of Granada from the grasp of unbelievers. He 
despatched, therefore, these two holy friars, with 
letters to the Castilian sovereigns, insisting that they 
should desist from this war, and reinstate the Moors 
of Granada in the territory of which they had been 
dispossessed ; otherwise, he threatened to put to death 
all the Christians beneath his sway, to demolish their 
convents and temples, and to destroy the holy 
sepulchre." 

It may not be uninteresting to remark that 
Christopher Columbus, in the course of his 
tedious solicitation to the Spanish court, was 
present at this siege ; and it is surmised that, 
in conversation with these diplomatic monks, 
he was first inspired with that zeal for the 
recovery of the holy sepulchre which, through- 



Conquest ot (Sranaoa 151 



out the remainder of his life, continued to 
animate his fervent and enthusiastic spirit, 
and beguile him into magnificent schemes and 
speculations. The ambassadors of theSoldan, 
meantime, could produce no change in the 
resolution of Ferdinand. Baza yielded after 
more than six months' arduous siege, and was 
followed by the surrender of most of the for- 
tresses of the Alpuxarra Mountains ; and at 
length the fiery El Zagal, tamed by misfortunes 
and abandoned by his subjects, surrendered his 
crown to the Christian sovereigns for a stipu- 
lated revenue or productive domain. 

Boabdil el Chico remained the sole and unri- 
valled sovereign of Granada, the vassal of the 
Christian sovereigns, whose assistance had sup- 
ported him in his wars against his uncle. But 
he was now to prove the hollow-hearted friend- 
ship of the politic Ferdinand. Pretences were 
easily found where a quarrel was already prede- 
termined, and he was presently required to 
surrender the city and crown of Granada. A 
ravage of the Vega enforced the demand, and 
the Spanish armies laid siege to the metropolis. 
Ferdinand had fulfilled his menace ; he had 
picked out the seeds of the promegranate. 
Every town and fortress had successively fallen 
into his hand, and the city of Granada stood 
alone. He led his desolating armies over this 



152 "Reviews an£> /BMscellanies 

paradise of a country, and left scarce!}* a living 
animal or a green blade on the face of the land, 
— and Granada, the queen of gardens, remained 
a desert. The history closes with the last 
scene of this eventful contest, — the surrender 
of the Moorish capital : 

" Having surrendered the last symbol of power, the 
unfortunate Boabdil continued on towards the Alpux- 
arras, that he might not behold the entrance of the 
Christians into his capital. His devoted band of cava- 
liers followed him in gloomy silence ; but heavy sighs 
burst from their bosoms, as shouts of joy and strains 
of triumphant music were borne on the breeze from 
the victorious army. Having rejoined his family, 
Boabdil set forward with a heavy heart for his allotted 
residence, in the valley of Porchena. At two leagues' 
distance, the cavalcade, winding into the skirts of the 
Alpuxarras, ascended an eminence commanding the 
last view of Granada. As the}- arrived at this spot, the 
Moors paused involuntarily to take a farewell gaze at 
their beloved city, which a few steps more would shut 
from their sight forever. Never had it appeared so 
lovely in their eyes. The sunshine, so bright in that 
transparent climate, lighted up each tower and mina- 
ret, and rested gloriously upon the crowning battle- 
ments of the Alhambra ; while the Vega spread its 
enamelled bosom of verdure below, glistening with 
the silver windings of the Xenil. The Moorish cava- 
liers gazed with a silent agony of tenderness and grief 
upon that delicious abode, the scene of their loves 
and pleasures. While they yet looked, a light cloud 
of smoke burst forth from the citadel ; and, presently, 



Conquest of ©ranaoa 153 



a peal of artillery, faintly heard, told that the city 
was taken possession of, and the throne of the Moslem 
kings was lost forever. The heart of Boabdil, softened 
by misfortunes and overcharged with grief, could no 
longer contain itself. ' Allah achbar ! God is great ! ' 
said he ; but the words of resignation died upon his 
lips, and he burst into a flood of tears. His mother, 
the intrepid Sultana Ayxa la Horra, was indignant at 
his weakness. ' You do well, ' said she, ' to weep like a 
woman for what you failed to defend like a man ! ' The 
vizier, Aben Comixa, endeavored to console his royal 
master. * Consider, sire,' said he, ' that the most signal 
misfortunes often render men as renowned as the most 
prosperous achievements, provided they sustain them 
with magnanimity.' The unhappy monarch, however, 
was not to be consoled. His tears continued to flow. 
' Allah achbar ! ' exclaimed he, ' when did misfortunes 
ever equal mine ! ' From this circumstance, the hill, 
which is not far from Padul, took the name of Feg 
Allah Achbar ; but the point of view commanding 
the last prospect of Granada is known among Spaniards 
by the name of el ultimo suspiro del Moro, or ' the last 
sigh of the Moor.' " 

Here ends the Chronicle of the Conquest of 
Granada, for here the author lets fall the cur- 
tain. We shall, however, extend our view a 
little further. The rejoicings of the Spanish 
sovereigns were echoed at Rome, and through- 
out Christendom. The venerable chronicler, 
Pedro Abarca, assures us that King Henry 
VII. of England celebrated the conquest by a 
grand procession to St. Paul's, where the 



154 "Reviews and d&iscellanies 

Chancellor pronounced an eloquent eulogy 
on King Ferdinand, declaring him not only 
a glorious captain and conqueror, but also 
entitled to a seat among the Apostles.* 

The pious and politic monarch governed his 
new kingdom with more righteousness than 
mercy. The Moors were at first a little restive 
under the yoke ; there were several tumults in 
the city, and a quantity of arms were dis- 
covered in a secret cave. Many of the offen- 
ders were tried, condemned, and put to death, 
some being quartered, others cut in pieces ; 
and the whole mass of infidel inhabitants was 
well sifted, and purged of upwards of forty 
thousand delinquents. This s\-stem of whole- 
some purgation was zealously continued by 
Fray Francisco (afterwards Cardinal) Ximenes, 
who, seconded by Fernando de Talavera, Arch- 
bishop of Granada, and clothed in the terrific 
power of the Inquisition, undertook the con- 
version of the Moors. We forbear to detail 
the various modes — sometimes b}- blandish- 
ment, sometimes by rigor, sometimes exhort- 
ing, sometimes entreating, sometimes hanging, 
sometimes burning — bj^ which the hard hearts 
of the infidels were subdued, and above fifty 
thousand coaxed, teased, and terrified into 
baptism. 

* Abarca, Anales de Aragon, p. 30. 



Coiumcst ot uranaOa 155 



One act of Ximeues has been the subject of 
particular regret. The Moors had cultivated 
the sciences while they lay buried in Europe, 
and were reuowed for the value of their litera- 
ture. Ximeues, in his bigoted zeal to destroy 
the Koran, extended his devastation to the 
indiscriminate destruction of their works, and 
burnt five thousand manuscripts on various 
subjects, some of them very splendid copies, 
and others of great intrinsic worth, sparing a 
very few, which treated chiefly of medicine. 
Here we shall pause, and not pursue the subject 
to the further oppression and persecution, and 
final expulsion, of these unhappy people ; the 
latter of which events is one of the most im- 
politic and atrocious recorded in the pages of 
history. 

Centuries have elapsed since the time of 
this chivalrous and romantic struggle, yet 
the monuments of it still remain, and the 
principal facts still linger in the popular tradi- 
tions and legendary ballads with which the 
country abounds. The likenesses of Ferdi- 
nand and Isabella are multiplied, in every 
mode, by painting and sculpture, in the 
churches, and convents, and palaces of Gra- 
nada. Their ashes rest in sepulchral mag- 
nificence in the royal chapel of the cathedral, 
where their effigies in alabaster lie side by 



156 IRevtews anfc Miscellanies 

side before a splendid altar, decorated in relief 
with the story of their triumph. The anni- 
versary of the surrender of the capital is still 
kept up by fetes, and ceremonies, and public 
rejoicings. The standard of Ferdinand and 
Isabella is again unfurled and waved to the 
sound of trumpets. The populace are admit- 
ted to rove all day about the halls and courts 
of the Alhambra, and to dance on its terraces ; 
the ancient alarm-bell resounds at morn, at 
noon, and at nightfall ; great emulation pre- 
vails among the damsels to ring a peal, — it 
is a sign they will be married in the course of 
the opening year. But this commemoration 
is not confined to Granada alone. Every town 
and village of the mountains on the Vega has 
the anniversary of its deliverance from Moorish 
thraldom ; when ancient armor, and Spanish 
and Moorish dresses, and unwieldy arque- 
buses, from the time of the Conquest, are 
brought forth from their repositories — gro- 
tesque processions are made — and sham battles, 
celebrated by peasants, arrayed as Christians 
and Moors, in which the latter are sure to 
be signally defeated, and sometimes, in the ar- 
dor and illusion of the moment, soundly rib- 
roasted. 

In traversing the mountains and valle3*s of 
the ancient kingdom, the traveller may trace 



Conquest of (Sranaoa 157 



with wonderful distinctness the scenes of the 
principal events of the war. The muleteer, 
as he lolls on his pack-saddle, smoking his 
cigar or chanting his popular romance, pauses 
to point out some wild, rocky pass, famous 
for the blood}- strife of infidel and Christian, 
or some Moorish fortress butting above the 
road, or some solitaty watch-tower on the 
heights, connected with the old story of the 
Conquest. Gibralfaro, the warlike hold of 
Hamet el Zegri, formidable even in its ruins, 
still frowns down from its rocky height upon 
the streets of Malaga. Loxa, Alhama, Zahara, 
Ronda, Guadix, Baza, have all their Moorish 
ruins, rendered classic by song and story. 
The " I,ast sigh of the Moor" still lingers 
about the height of Padul ; the traveller pauses 
on the arid and thirsty summit of the hill, 
commanding a view over the varied bosom of 
the Vega, to the distant towers of Granada. 
A humble cabin is erected by the wayside, 
where he may obtain water to slake his thirst, 
and the very rock is pointed out whence the 
unfortunate Boabdil took his last look, and 
breathed the last farewell, to his beloved 
Alhambra. 

Every part of Granada itself retains some 
memorial of the taste and elegance, the valor 
and voluptuousness of the Moors, or some 



158 IRexuews and /HMscellanies 

memento of the strife that sealed their down- 
fall. The fountains which gush on every side 
are fed by the aqueducts once formed by 
Moslem hands ; the Vega is still embroidered 
by the gardens the5^ planted, where the remains 
of their ingenious irrigation spread the verdure 
and freshness of a northern climate under the 
cloudless azure of a southern sky. But the 
pavilions that adorned these gardens — and 
where, if romances speak true, the Moslem 
heroes solaced themselves with the loves of 
their Zaras, their Zaidas, and their Zelindas — 
have long since disappeared. The orange, 
the citron, the fig, the vine, the pomegranate, 
the aloe, and the myrtle, shroud and over- 
whelm with Oriental vegetation the crum- 
bling ruins of towers and battlements. The 
Vivarrambla, once the scene of chivalric pomp 
and splendid tourney, is degraded to a market- 
place ; the Gate of Elvira, from whence so 
many a shining array of warriors passed forth 
to forage the land of the Christians, still exists, 
but neglected and dismantled, and tottering 
to its fall. The Alhambra rises from amidst 
its groves, the tomb of its former glory. The 
fountains still play in its marble halls, and 
the nightingale sings among the roses of its 
gardens ; but the halls are waste and solitary ; 
the owl hoots from its battlements, the hawk 



Conquest of (Sranaoa 159 



builds in its warrior towers, and bats flit about 
its royal chambers. Still the fountain is 
pointed out where the gallant Abencerrages 
were put to death ; the mirador, where Mo- 
ray ma sat and wept the departure of Boabdil, 
and watched for his return ; and the broken 
gateway, from whence the unfortunate mon- 
arch issued forth to surrender his fortress and 
his kingdom ; and which, at his request, was 
closed up, never to be entered by mortal foot- 
step. At the time when the French abandoned 
this fortress, after its temporary occupation a 
few years since, the tower of the gateway 
was blown up ; the walls were rent and shat- 
tered by the explosion, and the folding-doors 
hurled into the garden of the convent of L,os 
Martiros. The portal, however was closed 
up with stones, by persons who were ignorant 
of the tradition connected with it, and thus 
the last request of poor Boabdil continued 
unwittingly to be performed. In fact, the 
story of the gateway, though recorded in 
ancient chronicle, has faded from general 
recollection, and is only known to two or three 
ancient inhabitants of the Alhambra, who 
inherit it, with other local traditions, from 
their ancestors. 



^Letter to tbe lEoitor of " TLbc Umicfeer* 
bocfeer," 

ON COMMENCING HIS MONTHLY CONTRI- 
BUTIONS. 

SIR : I have observed that as a man ad- 
vances in life, he is subject to a kind of 
plethora of the mind, doubtless occa- 
sioned by the vast accumulation of wis- 
dom and experience upon the brain. Hence he 
is apt to become narrative and admonitory, that 
is to say, fond of telling long stories, and of 
doling out advice, to the small profit and great 
annoyance of his friends. As I have a great 
horror of becoming the oracle, or more tech- 
nically speaking, the " bore," of the domestic 
circle, and would much rather bestow my wis- 
dom and tediousness upon the world at large, 
I have always sought to ease off this surcharge 
of the intellect by means of my pen, and 
hence have inflicted divers gossiping volumes 
upon the patience of the public. I am tired, 
1 60 



Go tbe Boitor of " Cbe Uutfckerbocfcer " 161 



however, of writing volumes ; they do not 
afford exactly the relief I require ; there is too 
much preparation, arrangement, and parade in 
this set form of coming before the public. I 
am growing too indolent and unambitious for 
anything that requires labor or display. I 
have thought, therefore, of securing to myself 
a snug corner in some periodical work, where 
I might, as it were, loll at my ease in my 
elbow-chair, and chat sociably with the public, 
as with an old friend, on any chance subject 
that might pop into my brain. 

In looking around, for this purpose, upon 
the various excellent periodicals with which 
our country abounds, my eye was struck by 
the title of your work, — The Knickei r bocker. 
My heart leaped at the sight. 

Diedrich Knickerbocker, sir, was one of 
my earliest and most valued friends, and the 
recollection of him is associated with some of 
the pleasantest scenes of my youthful days. 
To explain this, and to show how I came into 
possession of sundry of his posthumous works, 
which I have from time to time given to the 
world, permit me to relate a few particulars of 
our early intercourse. I give them with the 
more confidence, as I know the interest you 
take in that departed worthy, whose name and 
effigy are stamped upon your titlepage, and as 



162 "Reviews anfc /HMscellanies 

they will be found important to the better 
understanding and relishing divers communi- 
cations I may have to make to you. 

My first acquaintance with that great and 
good man, — for such I may venture to call 
him, now that the lapse of some thirty years 
has shrouded his name with venerable anti- 
quity, and the popular voice has elevated him 
to the rank of the classic historians of yore — 
my first acquaintance with him was formed on 
the banks of the Hudson, not far from the 
wizard region of Sleepy Hollow. He had 
come there in the course of his researches 
among the Dutch neighborhoods for materials 
for his immortal history. For this purpose, he 
was ransacking the archives of one of the most 
ancient and historical mansions in the country. 
It was a lowly edifice, built in the time of the 
Dutch dynasty, and stood on a green bank 
overshadowed by trees, from which it peeped 
forth upon the Great Tappan Zee, so famous 
among early Dutch navigators. A bright 
pure spring welled up at the foot of the green 
bank ; a wild brook came babbling down a 
neighboring ravine, and threw itself into a 
little woody cove, in front of the mansion. It 
was indeed as quiet and sheltered a nook as 
the heart of man could require in which to 
take refuge from the cares and troubles of the 



Go tbe Eoitoc ot " Gbe Ikntckeibocher " 163 



world ; and as such, it had been chosen in old 
times by Wolfert Acker, one of the privy 
councillors of the renowned Peter Stuyvesant. 
This worthy but ill-starred man had led a 
weary and worried life throughout the stormy 
reign of the chivalric Peter, being one of those 
unlucky wights with whom the world is ever at 
variance, and who are kept in a continual fume 
and fret by the wickedness of mankind. At 
the time of the subjugation of the province by 
the English, he retired hither in high dudgeon ; 
with the bitter determination to bur}- himself 
from the world, and live here in peace and 
quietness for the remainder of his days. In 
token of this fixed resolution, he inscribed 
over his door the favorite Dutch motto, " I/ust 
in Rust " (pleasure in repose). The mansion 
was thence called " Wolfert' s Rust,"— Wol- 
fert' s Rest ; but in process of time the name 
was vitiated into Wolfert' s Roost, probably 
from its quaint cockloft look, or from its having 
a weathercock perched on every gable. This 
name it continued to bear long after the unlucky 
Wolfert was driven forth once more upon a 
wrangling world, bj r the tongue of a termagant 
wife ; for it passed into a proverb through the 
neighborhood, and has been handed down by 
tradition, that the cock of the roost was the 
most hen-pecked bird in the country. 



164 IRevtews anD ;fllMscellante8 

This primitive and historical mansion has 
since passed through many changes and trials 
which it may be my lot hereafter to notice. 
At the time of the sojourn of Diedrich Knicker- 
bocker, it was in possession of the gallant 
family of the Van Tassels, who have figured 
so conspicuously in his writings. What ap- 
pears to have given it peculiar value in his 
eyes, was the rich treasury of historical facts 
here secretly hoarded up, like buried gold ; 
for it is said that Wolfert Acker, when he 
retreated from New Amsterdam, carried off 
with him many of the records and journals of 
the province, pertaining to the Dutch dynasty ; 
swearing that they should never fall into the 
hands of the English. These, like the lost 
books of I/ivy, had baffled the research of 
former historians ; but these did I find the inde- 
fatigable Diedrich diligently deciphering. He 
was already a sage in years and experience, I 
but an idle stripling ; yet he did not despise 
my youth and ignorance, but took me kindly 
by the hand, and led me gently into those 
paths of local and traditional lore which he 
was so fond of exploring. I sat with him in 
his little chamber at the Roost, and watched 
the antiquarian patience and perseverance with 
which he deciphered those venerable Dutch 
documents, worse than Herculanean manu- 



Go tbe JEDttor of " Gbe flmicfeerbocfcer " 165 



scripts. I sat with him by the spring, at 
the foot of the green bank, and listened to his 
heroic tales about the worthies of the olden 
time, — the paladins of New Amsterdam. I 
accompanied him in his legendary researches 
about Tarrytown and Sing-Sing, and explored 
with him the spellbound recesses of Sleepy 
Hollow. I was present at many of his confer- 
ences with the good old Dutch burghers and 
their wives, from whom he derived many of 
those marvellous facts not laid down in books 
or records, and which give such superior value 
and authenticity to his history over all others 
that have been written concerning the New 
Netherlands. 

But let me check my proneness to dilate 
upon this favorite theme ; I may recur to it 
hereafter. Suffice it to say, the intimacy thus 
formed continued for a considerable time ; and 
in company with the worthy Diedrich, I visited 
many of the places celebrated by his pen. The 
currents of our lives at length diverged. He 
remained at home to complete his mighty 
work, while a vagrant fancy led me to wander 
about the world. Many, many years elapsed 
before I returned to the parent soil. In the 
interim, the venerable historian of the New 
Netherlands had been gathered to his fathers, 
but his name had risen to renown. His native 



166 IReviews anD /IIMsceUanfes 

city, that city in which he so much delighted, 
had decreed all manner of costly honors to his 
memory. I found his effigy imprinted upon 
New- Year cakes, and devoured with eager 
relish by holiday urchins ; a great oyster-house 
bore the name of ' ' Knickerbocker Hall ' ' ; and 
I narrowly escaped the pleasure of being run 
over by a Knickerbocker omnibus ! 

Proud of having associated with a man who 
had achieved such greatness, I now recalled 
our early intimacy with tenfold pleasure, and 
sought to revisit the scenes we had trodden 
together. The most important of these was 
the mansion of the Van Tassels, the Roost of 
the unfortunate Wolfert. Time, which changes 
all things, is but slow in its operations upon a 
Dutchman's dwelling. I found the venerable 
and quiet little edifice much as I had seen it 
during the sojourn of Diedrich. There stood 
his elbow-chair in the corner of the room he 
had occupied ; the old-fashioned Dutch writing- 
desk at which he had pored over the chronicles 
of the Manhattoes ; there was the old wooden 
chest, with the archives left by Wolfert Acker, 
many of which, however, had been fired off 
as wadding from the long duck-gun of the 
Van Tassels. The scene around the mansion 
was still the same ; the green bank, the spring 
beside which I had listened to the legendary 



XTo tbe JEoitcv of M Gbe Ikitickerbocfcer " 167 

uarratives of the historian ; the wild brook 
babbling down to the woody cove, and the 
over-shadowing locust-trees half shutting out 
the prospect of the Great Tappan Zee. 

As I looked round upon the scene, my heart 
yearned at the recollection of my departed 
friend, and I wistfully eyed the mansion which 
he had inhabited, and which was fast moulder- 
ing to decay. The thought struck me to ar- 
rest the desolating hand of Time ; to rescue 
the historic pile from utter ruin, and to make 
it the closing scene of my wanderings, — a 
quiet home, where I might enjoy "lust in 
rust" for the remainder of my days. It is 
true, the fate of the unlucky Wolfert passed 
across my mind ; but I consoled myself with 
the reflection that I was a bachelor, and that I 
had no termagant wife to dispute the sover- 
eignty of the Roost with me. 

I have become possessor of the Roost ! I 
have repaired and renovated it with religious 
care, in the genuine Dutch style, and have 
adorned and illustrated it with sundry relics 
of the glorious days of the New Netherlands. 
A venerable weathercock, of portly Dutch 
dimensions, which once battled with the wind 
on the top of the Stadt-House of New Amster- 
dam, in the time of Peter Stuyvesant, now 
erects its crest on the gable end of my edifice ; 



i68 Reviews an& Miscellanies 

a gilded horse, in full gallop, once the weather- 
cock of the great Vander Heyden Palace of 
Albany, now glitters in the sunshine, and 
veers with every breeze, on the peaked turret 
over my portal ; my sanctum sanctorum is the 
chamber once honored by the illustrious Died- 
rich, and it is from his elbow-chair, and his 
identical old Dutch writing-desk, that I pen 
this rambling epistle. 

Here then have I set up my rest, surrounded 
by the recollections of earlier days, and the 
mementos of the historian of the Manhattoes, 
with that glorious river before me, which flows 
with such majesty through his works, and 
which has ever been to me a river of delight. 

I thank God I was born on the banks of the 
Hudson ! I think it an invaluable advantage 
to be born and brought up in the neighborhood 
of some grand and noble object in Nature, — 
a river, a lake, or a mountain. We make a 
friendship with it, — we in a manner ally our- 
selves to it for life. It remains an object of 
our pride and affections, a rallying-point, to 
call us home again after all our wanderings. 
1 ' The things which we have learned in our 
childhood," says an old writer, "grow up 
with our souls, and unite themselves to it." 
So it is with the scenes among which we have 
passed our early days ; they influence the 



Go tbe Boitor of " Zbe Iknickerbocfcer " 169 



whole course of our thoughts and feelings ; 
and I fancy I can trace much of what is good 
and pleasant in my own heterogeneous com- 
pound to my early companionship with this 
glorious river. In the warmth of my youthful 
enthusiasm, I used to clothe it with moral at- 
tributes, and almost to gi\ r e it a soul. I ad- 
mired its frank, bold, honest character ; its 
noble sincerity and perfect truth. Here was 
no specious, smiling surface, covering the 
dangerous sand-bar or perfidious rock ; but a 
stream deep as it was broad, and bearing with 
honorable faith the bark that trusted to its 
waves. I gloried in its simple, quiet, majestic, 
epic flow; ever straight forward. Once in- 
deed, it turns aside for a moment, forced from 
its course by opposing mountains ; but it strug- 
gles bravely through them, and immediately 
resumes its straightforward march. Behold, 
thought I, an emblem of a good man's course 
through life ; ever simple, open, and direct ; 
or if, overpowered by adverse circumstances, 
he deviate into error, it is but momentary ; he 
soon recovers his onward and honorable career, 
and continues it to the end of his pilgrimage. 
Excuse this rhapsody into which I have been 
betrayed by a revival of early feelings. The 
Hudson is, in a manner, my first and last love ; 
and after all n^ wanderings, and seeming infi- 



i?o IReviews and /BMscellanies 

delities, I return to it with a heartfelt prefer- 
ence over all the other rivers in the world. I 
seem to catch new life, as I bathe in its ample 
billows, and inhale the pure breezes of its hills. 
It is true, the romance of youth is past that 
once spread illusions over every scene. lean 
no longer picture an Arcadia in every green 
valley, nor a fairy -land among the distant 
mountains, nor a peerless beauty in every villa 
gleaming among the trees ; but, though the 
illusions of youth have faded from the land- 
scape, the recollections of departed years and 
departed pleasures shed over it the mellow 
charm of evening sunshine. 

Permit me then, Mr. Editor, through the 
medium of your work, to hold occasional dis- 
course from my retreat with the busy world I 
have abandoned. I have much to say about 
what I have seen, heard, felt, and thought, 
through the course of a varied and rambling 
life, and some lucubrations that have long been 
encumbering my portfolio ; together with di- 
vers reminiscences of the venerable historian 
of the New Netherlands, that may not be un- 
acceptable to those who have taken an interest 
in his writings, and are desirous of anj T thing 
that may cast a light back upon our early his- 
tory. Let your readers rest assured of one 
thing, that, though retired from the world, I 



Go tbe JEoitor ot " Gbe Iftnickerbocfcer " 171 



am not disgusted with it ; and that if, in my 

communings with it, I do not prove very wise, 

I trust I shall at least prove very good-natured. 

Which is all at present, from 

Yours, etc., 

Geoffrey Crayon. 




Sleeps Ibollow, 

BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 

HAVING pitched my tent, probably for 
the remainder of my days, in the neigh- 
borhood of Sleepy Hollow, I am tempted 
to give some few particulars concerning 
that spellbound region ; especially as it has 
risen to historic importance under the pen of my 
revered friend and master, the sage historian of 
the New Netherlands. Besides, I find the very 
existence of the place has been held in question 
by many, who, judging from its odd name, and 
from the odd stories current among the vulgar 
concerning it, have rashly deemed the whole 
to be a fanciful creation, like the Lubber Land 
of mariners. I must confess there is some ap- 
parent cause for doubt, in consequence of the 
coloring given by the worthy Diedrich to his 
descriptions of the Hollow, who, in this in- 
stance, has departed a little from his usually 
sober if not severe style ; beguiled, very prob- 
172 



Sleeps Ibollow 173 



ably, by his predilection for the haunts of his 
youth, and by a certain lurking taint of ro- 
mance, whenever anything connected with the 
Dutch was to be described. I shall endeavor 
to make up for this amiable error, on the part 
of my venerable and venerated friend, by pre- 
senting the reader with a more concise and sta- 
tistical account of the Hollow ; though I am 
not sure that I shall not be prone to lapse, in 
the end, into the very error I am speaking of, 
so potent is the witchery of the theme. 

I believe it was the very peculiarity of its 
name, and the idea of something mystic and 
dreamy connected with it, that first led me, in 
my boyish ramblings, into Sleepy Hollow. 
The character of the valley seemed to answer 
to the name : the slumber of past ages appar- 
ently reigned over it ; it had not awakened to 
the stir of improvement, which had put all the 
rest of the world in a bustle. Here reigned 
good old long-forgotten fashions : the men were 
in homespun garbs, evidently the product of 
their own farms, and the manufacture of their 
own wives ; the women were in primitive short 
gowns and petticoats, with the venerable sun- 
bonnets of Holland origin. The lower part of 
the valley was cut up into small farms : each 
consisting of a little meadow and cornfield ; an 
orchard of sprawling, gnarled apple-trees ; and 



174 IRevuews and fl&iscellanies 

a garden, where the rose, the marigold, and 
the hollyhock were permitted to skirt the do- 
mains of the capacious cabbage, the aspiring 
pea, and the portly pumpkin. Bach had its 
prolific little mansion, teeming with children : 
with an old hat nailed against the wall for the 
house-keeping wren ; a motherly hen, under 
a coop on the grass-plot, clucking to keep 
around her a brood of vagrant chickens ; a 
cool stone well, with the moss-covered bucket 
suspended to the long balancing-pole, accord- 
ing to the antidiluvian idea of hydraulics ; 
and its spinning-wheel humming within doors, 
the patriarchal music of home manufacture. 

The Hollow at that time was inhabited by 
families which had existed there from the 
earliest times, and which, by frequent inter- 
marriage, had become so interwoven as to 
make a kind of natural commonwealth. As 
the families had grown larger, the farms had 
grown smaller, every new generation requiring 
a new subdivision, and few thinking of swarm- 
ing from the native hive. In this way that 
happy golden mean had been produced, so 
much extolled by the poets, in which there 
was no gold and very little silver. One thing 
which doubtless contributed to keep up this ami- 
able mean, was a general repugnance to sordid 
labor. The sage inhabitants of Sleepy Hollow 



Sleeps Ibollow 175 



had read in their Bible, which was the only 
book they studied, that labor was originally 
inflicted upon man as a punishment of sin ; 
they regarded it, therefore, with pious abhor- 
rence, and never humiliated themselves to it 
but in case of extremity. There seemed, in 
fact, to be a league and covenant against it, 
throughout the Hollow, as against a common 
enemy. Was any one compelled by dire neces- 
sity to repair his house, mend his fences, build 
a barn, or get in a harvest, he considered it a 
great evil, that entitled him to call in the assist- 
ance of his friends. He accordingly proclaimed 
a "bee," or rustic gathering; whereupon all 
his neighbors hurried to his aid, like faithful 
allies ; attacked the task with the desperate 
energy of lazy men, eager to overcome a job ; 
and when it was accomplished, fell to eat- 
ing and drinking, fiddling and dancing, for 
very joy that so great an amount of labor had 
been vanquished, with so little sweating of the 
brow. 

Yet let it not be supposed that this worthy 
community was without its periods of arduous 
activity. Let but a flock of wild pigeons fly 
across the valley, and all Sleepy Hollow was 
wide awake in an instant. The pigeon season 
had arrived ! Every gun and net was forth- 
with in requisition. The flail was thrown 



176 "Reviews and /Miscellanies 

down on the barn-floor ; the spade rusted in 
the garden ; the plough stood idle in the 
furrow ; every one was to the hill-side and 
stubble-field at da3'break, to shoot or entrap 
the pigeons, in their periodical migrations. 

So, likewise, let but the word be given that 
the shad were ascending the Hudson, and the 
worthies of the Hollow were to be seen 
launched in boats upon the river ; setting 
great stakes, and stretching their nets, like 
gigantic spider-webs, half across the stream, to 
the great annoyance of navigators. Such are 
the wise provisions of Nature, by which she 
equalizes rural affairs. A laggard at the 
plough is often extremely industrious with the 
fowling-piece and fishing-net ; and whenever a 
man is an indifferent farmer, he is apt to be a 
first-rate sportsman. For catching shad and 
wild pigeons, there were none throughout the 
country to compare with the lads of Sleepy 
Hollow. 

As I have observed, it was the dreamy 
nature of the name that first beguiled me, in 
the holiday rovings of boyhood, into this 
sequestered region. I shunned, however, the 
populous parts of the Hollow, and sought 
its retired haunts, far in the foldings of the 
hills, where the Pocantico "winds its wiz- 
ard stream," sometimes silently and darkly, 



Sleeps Ibollow 177 



through solemn woodlands ; sometimes spar- 
kling between grassy borders, in fresh green 
meadows ; sometimes stealing along the feet 
of ragged heights, under the balancing sprays 
of beech and chestnut trees. A thousand crystal 
springs, with which this neighborhood abounds, 
sent down from the hill-sides their whimpering 
rills, as if to pay tribute to the Pocantico. In 
this stream I first essayed my unskilful hand 
at angling. I loved to loiter along it, with rod 
in hand, watching my float as it whirled amid 
the eddies, or drifted into dark holes, un- 
der twisted roots and sunken logs, where the 
largest fish are apt to lurk. I delighted to 
follow it into the brown recesses of the woods ; 
to throw by my fishing-gear and sit upon rocks 
beneath towering oaks and clambering grape- 
vines ; bathe my feet in the cool current, and 
listen to the summer breeze playing among the 
tree-tops. My boyish fancy clothed all Nature 
around me with ideal charms, and peopled it 
with the fairy beings I had read of in poetry 
and fable. Here it was I gave full scope to my 
incipient habit of day-dreaming, and to a cer- 
tain propensity to weave up and tint sober 
realities with my own w T hims and imaginings, 
which has sometimes made life a little too much 
like an Arabian tale to me, and this " working- 
day world " rather like a region of romance. 



i7» IRexHeYVS anD /BMscellanies 

The great gathering place of Sleepy Hollow, 
in those days, was the church. It stood out- 
side of the Hollow, near the great highway, on 
a green bank, shaded by trees, with the Pocan- 
tico sweeping round it and emptying itself into 
a spacious mill-pond. At that time the Sleepy 
Hollow church was the only place of worship 
for a wide neighborhood. It was a venerable 
edifice, partly of stone and partly of brick, — the 
latter having been brought from Holland, in 
the early days of the Province, before the arts 
in the New Netherlands could aspire to such a 
fabrication. On a stone above the porch were 
inscribed the names of the founders, Frederick 
Filipsen, — a mighty man of the olden time, who 
got the better of the native savages, subdued a 
great tract of country by dint of trinkets, to- 
bacco, and aqua vitce, and established his seat of 
power at Yonkers, — and his wife, Katrina Van 
Courtlandt, of the no less heroic line of the 
Van Courtlandts of Croton, who in like man- 
ner subdued and occupied a great part of the 
Highlands. 

The capacious pulpit, with its wide-spread- 
ing sounding-board, was likewise an early 
importation from Holland ; as also the com- 
munion-table, of massive form and curious 
fabric. The same might be said of a weather- 
cock, perched on top of the belfry, and which 



Sleeps Ibollow 179 



was considered orthodox in all windy matters, 
until a small pragmatical rival was set up on 
the other end of the church, above the chancel 
This latter bore, and still bears, the initials of 
Frederick Filipsen, and assumed great airs in 
consequence. The usual contradiction ensued 
that always exists among church weathercocks, 
which can never be brought to agree as to the 
point from which the wind blows, having 
doubtless acquired, from their position, the 
Christian propensity to schism and contro- 
versy. 

Behind the church, and sloping up a gentle 
acclivity, was its capacious burying-ground, 
in which slept the earliest fathers of this rural 
neighborhood. Here were tombstones of the 
rudest sculpture ; on which were inscribed, in 
Dutch, the names and virtues of many of the 
first settlers, with their portraitures curiously 
carved in similitude of cherubs. Long rows 
of gravestones, side by side, of similar names 
but various dates, showed that generation after 
generation of the same families had followed 
each other, and had been garnered together in 
this last gathering place of kindred. 

Let me speak of this quiet graveyard with 
all due reverence, for I owe it amends for the 
heedlessness of my boyish days. I blush to 
acknowledge the thoughtless frolic with which, 



180 "Reviews an& rtlMscellanies 

in company with other whipsters, I have sported 
within its sacred bounds, during the intervals 
of worship, — chasing butterflies, plucking wild 
flowers, or vying with each other who could 
leap over the tallest tombstones, — until checked 
by the stern voice of the sexton. 

The congregation was, in those days, of a 
really rural character. City fashions were as 
yet unknown, or unregarded, by the country 
people of the neighborhood. Steamboats had 
not as yet confounded town with country. A 
weekly market-boat from Tarry town, the 
Farmer's Daughter, navigated by the worthy 
Gabriel Requa, was the only communication 
between all these parts and the metropolis. A 
rustic belle in those days considered a visit to 
the city in much the same light as one of our 
modern fashionable ladies regards a visit to 
Europe, — an event that may possibly take place 
once in the course of a lifetime, but to be hoped 
for rather than expected. Hence the array of 
the congregation was chiefly after the primitive 
fashions existing in Sleepy Hollow ; or if, by 
chance, there was a departure from the Dutch 
sun-bonnet, or the apparition of a bright gown 
of flowered calico, it caused quite a sensation 
throughout the church. As the dominie gen- 
erally preached by the hour, a bucket of water 
was providently placed on a bench near the 



: 



door, in summer, with a tin cup beside it, for 
the solace of those who might be ath 
either from the heat of the weather or the 
drought of the sermon. 

Around the pulpit, and behind the com- 
munion-table, sat the elders of the church, 
reverend, gray -headed, leathern-visaged men. 
whom I regarded with awe. as so many apos- 
tles. They were stern in their sanctity, kept 
a vigilant eye upon my giggling companions 
and myself, and shook a rebuking finger at 
any boyish device to relieve the tediousness of 
compulsory devotion. Vain, however, were 
all their efforts at vigilance. Scarcely had the 
preacher held forth for half an hour, in one of 
his interminable sermons, than it seemed as if 
the drowsy influence of Sleepy Hollow breathed 
into the place : one by one the congregation 
sank into slumber ; the sanctified elders leaned 
back in their pews, spreading their handker- 
:"s over their faces, as if to keep off the 
flies ; while the locusts in the neighboring 
trees would spin out their sultry summer notes, 
vying with the sleep-provoking tones of the 
dominie. 

I have thus endeavored to give an idea of 
Sleepy Hollow and its church, as I recollect 
them to have been in the days of my boyhood. 
It was in my stripling days, when a few years 



182 IReviews an& /HMeceUanies 

had passed over my head, that I revisited 
them, in company with the venerable Diedrich. 
I shall never forget the antiquarian reverence 
with which that sage and excellent man con- 
templated the church. It seemed as if all 
his pious enthusiasm for the ancient Dutch 
dynasty swelled within his bosom at the sight. 
The tears stood in his eyes as he regarded the 
pulpit and the communion-table ; even the 
very bricks that had come from the mother- 
country seemed to touch a filial chord within 
his bosom. He almost bowed in deference to 
the stone above the porch, containing the names 
of Frederick Filipsen and Katrina Van Court- 
landt, regarding it as the linking together of 
those patronymic names once so famous along 
the banks of the Hudson ; or rather as a key- 
stone, binding that mighty Dutch family con- 
nection of yore, one foot of which rested on 
Yonkers, and the other on the Croton. Nor 
did he forbear to notice with admiration the 
windy contest which had been carried on since 
time immemorial, and with real Dutch perse- 
verance, between the two weathercocks ; 
though I could easily perceive he coincided 
with the one which had come from Holland. 
Together we paced the ample churchyard. 
With deep veneration would he turn down the 
weeds and brambles that obscured the modest 



Sleepg fjollow 183 



brown gravestones, half sunk in earth, on 
which were recorded, in Dutch, the names of 
the patriarchs of ancient days, — the Ackers, 
the Van Tassels, and the Van Warts. As we 
sat on one of the tombstones, he recounted to 
me the exploits of many of these worthies ; 
and my heart smote me, when I heard of their 
great doings in days of yore, to think how 
heedlessly I had once sported over their graves. 

From the church the venerable Diedrich 
proceeded in his researches up the Hollow. 
The genius of the place seemed to hail its 
future historian. All nature was alive with 
gratulation. The quail whistled a greeting 
from the cornfield ; the robin carolled a song 
of praise from the orchard ; the loquacious cat- 
bird flew from bush to bush, with restless wing, 
proclaiming his approach in every variety of 
note, and anon would whisk about and perk 
inquisitively into his face, as if to get a knowl- 
edge of his physiognomy ; the woodpecker, 
also, tapped a tattoo on the hollow apple-tree, 
and then peered knowingly round the trunk to 
see how the great Diedrich relished his saluta- 
tion ; while the ground-squirrel scampered 
along the fence, and occasionally whisked his 
tail over his head by way of a huzza ! 

The worthy Diedrich pursued his researches 
in the valley with characteristic devotion ; 



1 34 "Reviews anfc flMscellanies 

entering familiarly into the various cottages, 
and gossiping with the simple folk, in the 
style of their own simplicity. I confess my 
heart yearned with admiration, to see so great 
a man, in his eager quest after knowledge, 
humbly demeaning himself to curry favor 
with the humblest ; sitting patiently on a 
three-legged stool, patting the children, and 
taking a purring grimalkin on his lap, while 
he conciliated the good-will of the old Dutch 
housewife, and drew from her long ghost- 
stories, spun out to the humming accompani- 
ment of her wheel. 

His greatest treasure of historic lore, how- 
ever, was discovered in an old goblin-looking 
mill, situated among rocks and water-falls, 
with clanking wheels, and rushing streams, 
and all kinds of uncouth noises. A horse- 
shoe, nailed to the door to keep off witches 
and evil spirits, showed that this mill was 
subject to awful visitations. As we approached 
it, an old negro thrust his head, all dabbled 
with flour, out of a hole above the water- 
wheel, and grinned, and rolled his e3^es, and 
looked like the very hobgoblin of the place. 
The illustrious Diedrich fixed upon him, at 
once, as the very one to give him that invalu- 
able kind of information, never to be acquired 
from books. He beckoned him from his nest. 



Sleeps Ibollow 185 



sat with him by the hour on a broken mill- 
stone, by the side of the water-fall, heedless 
of the noise of the w T ater and the clatter of 
the mill ; and I verily believe it was to his con- 
ference with this African sage, and the pre- 
cious revelations of the good dame of the 
spinning-wheel, that we are indebted for the 
surprising though true history of Ichabod 
Crane and the Headless Horseman, which 
has since astounded and edified the world. 

But I have said enough of the good old 
times of my youthful days ; let me speak of 
the Hollow as I found it, after an absence of 
many years, when it was kindly given me 
once more to revisit the haunts of my boy- 
hood. It was a genial day as I approached 
that fated region. The warm sunshine was 
tempered by a slight haze, so as to give a 
dreamy effect to the landscape. Not a breath 
of air shook the foliage. The broad Tappan 
Sea was without a ripple, and the sloops, with 
drooping sails, slept on its glassy bosom. 
Columns of smoke, from burning brushwood, 
rose lazily from the folds of the hills, on the 
opposite side of the river, and slowly expanded 
in mid-air. The distant lowing of a cow, or 
the noontide crowing of a cock, coming faintly 
to the ear, seemed to illustrate, rather than 
disturb, the drowsy quiet of the scene. 



1 86 IRetnews anD /IMscellantes 

I entered the Hollow with a beating heart. 
Contrary to my apprehensions, I found it but 
little changed. The march of intellect, which 
had made such rapid strides along every river 
and highway, had not yet, apparently, turned 
down into this favored valley. Perhaps the 
wizard spell of ancient days still reigned over 
the place, binding up the faculties of the in- 
habitants in happy contentment with things 
as they had been handed down to them from 
yore. There were the same little farms and 
farm-houses, with their old hats for the house- 
keeping wren ; their stone wells, moss-covered 
buckets, and long balancing-poles. There 
were the same little rills, whimpering down 
to pay their tributes to the Pocantico ; while 
that wizard stream still kept on its course, as 
of old, through solemn woodlands and fresh 
green meadows ; nor were there wanting joy- 
ous holiday boys, to loiter along its banks, 
as I had done ; throw their pin -hooks in 
the stream, or launch their mimic barks. I 
watched them with a kind of melancholy 
pleasure, wondering whether they were under 
the same spell of the fancy that once rendered 
this valley a fairy-land to me. Alas ! alas ! 
to me everything now stood revealed in its 
simple reality. The echoes no longer answered 
with wizard tongues ; the dream of youth was 



Sleepy Ibollow 187 



at an end ; the spell of Sleepy Hollow was 
broken ! 

I sought the ancient church on the follow- 
ing Sunday. There it stood, on its green 
bank, among the trees ; the Pocantico swept 
by it in a deep dark stream, where I had so 
often angled ; there expanded the mill-pond, 
as of old, with the cows under the willows on 
its margin, knee-deep in water, chewing the 
cud, and lashing the flies from their sides with 
their tails. The hand of improvement, how- 
ever, had been busy with the venerable pile. 
The pulpit, fabricated in Holland, had been 
superseded by one of modern construction, 
and the front of the semi- Gothic edifice was 
decorated by a semi- Grecian portico. Fortu- 
nately, the two weathercocks remained un- 
disturbed on their perches, at each end of 
the church, and still kept up a diametrical 
opposition to each other on all points of windy 
doctrine. 

On entering the church the changes of time 
continued to be apparent. The elders round 
the pulpit were men whom I had left in the 
gamesome frolic of their youth, but who had 
succeeded to the sanctity of station of which 
they once had stood so much in awe. What 
most struck my eye was the change in the 
female part of the congregation. Instead of 



188 IRevtews and /lRi5cellanic6 

the primitive garbs of homespun manufacture 
and antique Dutch fashion, I beheld French 
sleeves, French capes, and French collars, and 
a fearful fluttering of French ribbons. 

When the service was ended I sought the 
churchyard in which I had sported in my 
unthinking days of boyhood. Several of the 
modest brown stones, on which were recorded, 
in Dutch, the names and virtues of the patri- 
archs, had disappeared, and had been suc- 
ceeded by others of white marble, with urns, 
and wreaths, and scraps of English tombstone 
poetry, marking the intrusion of taste, and 
literature, and the English language, in this 
once unsophisticated Dutch neighborhood. 

As I was stumbling about among these silent 
yet eloquent memorials of the dead, I came 
upon names familiar to me, — of those who had 
paid the debt of Nature during the long inter- 
val of my absence. Some I remembered, my 
companions in boyhood, who had sported with 
me on the very sod under which they were now 
mouldering ; others, who in those days had 
been the flower of the yeomanry, figuring in 
Sunday finery on the church-green ; others, 
the white-haired elders of the sanctuary, once 
arrayed in awful sanctity around the pulpit, 
and ever ready to rebuke the ill-timed mirth of 
the wanton stripling, who, now a man, sobered 



Sleeps "toollow 



by years and schooled by vicissitudes, looked 
down pensively upon their graves. " Our 
fathers," thought I, "where are they? — and 
the prophets, can they live forever ? " 

I was disturbed in my meditations by the 
noise of a troop of idle urchins, who came 
gambolling about the place where I had so 
often gambolled. They were checked, as I and 
my playmates had often been, by the voice of 
the sexton, a man staid in years and demeanor. 
I looked wistfully in his face ; had I met him 
anywhere else I should probably have passed 
him by without remark ; but here I was alive 
to the traces of former times, and detected in 
the demure features of this guardian of the 
sanctuary the lurking lineaments of one of the 
very playments I have alluded to. We re- 
newed our acquaintance. He sat down beside 
me, on one of the tombstones over which we 
had leaped in our juvenile sports, and we 
talked together about our boyish days, and 
held edifying discourse on the instability of 
all sublunary things, as instanced in the scene 
around us. He was rich in historic lore, as to 
the events of the last thirty years and the cir- 
cumference of thirty miles, and from him I 
learned the appalling revolution that was tak- 
ing place throughout the neighborhood. All 
this I clearly perceived he attributed to the 



i go "Reviews anD /BMscellantes 

boasted march of intellect, or rather to the all- 
pervading influence of steam. He bewailed 
the times when the only communication with 
town was by the weekly market-boat, the Farm- 
er 's Daughter, which, under the pilotage of the 
worthy Gabriel Requa, braved the perils of 
the Tappan Sea. Alas ! Gabriel and the 
Farmer s Daughter slept in peace. Two steam- 
boats now splashed and paddled up daily to 
the little rural port of Tarrytown. The spirit 
of speculation and improvement had seized 
even upon that once quiet and unambitious 
little dorp. The whole neighborhood was laid 
out into town lots. Instead of the little tavern 
below the hill, w T here the farmers used to loiter 
on market-days, and indulge in cider and gin- 
gerbread, an ambitious hotel, with cupola and 
verandas, now crested the summit, among 
churches built in the Grecian and Gothic 
styles, showing the great increase of piety and 
polite taste in the neighborhood. As to Dutch 
dresses and sun-bonnets, they were no longer 
tolerated, or even thought of; not a farmer's 
daughter but now went to town for the fash- 
ions ; nay, a city milliner had recently set up 
in the village, who threatened to reform the 
heads of the whole neighborhood. 

I had heard enough ! I thanked my old 
playmate for his intelligence, and departed 



Sleeps Ibollow 19^ 



from the Sleepy Hollow church with the sad 
conviction that I had beheld the last lingerings 
of the good old Dutch times in this once favored 
region. If anything were wanting to confirm 
this impression, it would be the intelligence 
which has just reached me, that a bank is 
about to be established in the aspiring little 
port just mentioned. The fate of the neigh- 
borhood is, therefore, sealed. I see no hope 
of averting it. The golden mean is at an end. 
The country is suddenly to be deluged with 
wealth. The late simple farmers are to become 
bank directors, and drink claret and cham- 
pagne ; and their wives and daughters to figure 
in French hats and feathers ; for French wines 
and French fashions commonly keep pace with 
paper money. How can I hope that even 
Sleepy Hollow may escape the general awak- 
ening ? In a little while I fear the slumber of 
ages will be at an end ; the strum of the piano 
will succeed to the hum of the spinning-wheel ; 
the thrill of the Italian opera to the nasal quaver 
of Ichabod Crane ; and the antiquarian visitor 
to the Hollow, in the petulance of his disap- 
pointment, may pronounce all that I have re- 
corded of that once spell- bound region a fable. 

Geoffrey Crayon. 



IRational nomenclature. 

To THE Editor of The Knickerbocker : 

SIR, — I am somewhat of the same way of 
thinking, in regard to names, with that 
profound philosopher, Mr. Shandy the 
elder, who maintained that some inspired 
high thoughts and heroic aims, while others 
entailed irretrievable meanness and vulgarity ; 
insomuch that a man might sink under the in- 
significance of his name, and be absolutely 
1 ' Nicodemused into nothing." I have ever, 
therefore, thought it a great hardship for a man 
to be obliged to struggle through life with some 
ridiculous or ignoble ' ' Christian name, " as it 
is too often falsely called, inflicted on him in 
infancy, when he could not choose for himself ; 
and would give him free liberty to change it 
for one more to his taste, when he had arrived 
at years of discretion. 

I have the same notion with respect to 
local names. Some at once prepossess us in 
192 



National IRomenclature 193 

favor of a place ; others repel us, bj T unlucky 
associations of the mind ; and I have known 
scenes worthy of being the very haunt of poetry 
and romance, yet doomed to irretrievable vul- 
garity by some ill-chosen name, which not 
even the magic numbers of a Halleck or a Bry- 
ant could elevate into poetical acceptation. 

This is an evil unfortunately too prevalent 
throughout our country. Nature has stamped 
the land with features of sublimity and 
beauty ; but some of our noblest mountains 
and loveliest streams are in danger of remain- 
ing forever unhonored and unsung, from bear- 
ing appellations totally abhorrent to the Muse. 
In the first place, our country is deluged with 
names taken from places in the Old World, and 
applied to places having no possible affinity or 
resemblance to their namesakes. This beto- 
kens a forlorn poverty of invention, and a sec- 
ond-hand spirit, content to cover its nakedness 
with borrowed or cast-off clothes of Europe. 

Then we have a shallow affectation of scholar- 
ship ; the whole catalogue of ancient worthies 
is shaken out from the back of Lempriere's 
Classical Dictionary, and a wide region of 
wild country sprinkled over with the names of 
the heroes, poets, and sages of antiquity, jum- 
bled into the most whimsical juxtaposition. 
Then we have our political god-fathers, — topo- 



194 "Reviews ant) jfl&iscellanies 

graphical engineers, perhaps, or persons em- 
ployed by government to survey and lay out 
townships. These, forsooth, glorify the pa- 
trons that give them bread ; so we have the 
names of the great official men of the day scat- 
tered over the land, as if they were the real 
" salt of the earth," with which it was to be 
seasoned. Well for us is it when these official 
great men happen to have names of fair accep- 
tation ; but woe unto us should a Tubbs or a 
Potts be in power ; we are sure, in a little 
while, to find Tubbsvilles and Pottsylvanias 
springing up in every direction. 

Under these melancholy dispensations of 
taste and loyalty, therefore, Mr. Editor, it is 
with a feeling of dawning hope that I have 
lately perceived the attention of persons of 
intelligence beginning to be awakened on this 
subject. I trust that if the matter should once 
be taken up, it will not be readily abandoned. 
We are yet young enough, as a country, to 
remedy and reform much of what has been 
done, and to release many of our rising towns 
and cities, and our noble streams, from names 
calculated to vulgarize the land. 

I have, on a former occasion, suggested the 
expediency of searching out the original Indian 
names of places, and wherever the}' are striking 
and euphonious, and those by which the}' have 



"national "nomenclature 195 



been superseded are glaringly objectionable, 
to restore them. They would have the merit 
of originality, and of belonging to the country ; 
and they would remain as relics of the native 
lords of the soil, when every other vestige had 
disappeared. Many of these names may easily 
be regained, by reference to old title-deeds, and 
to the archives of States and counties. In my 
own case, by examining the records of the 
county clerk's office, I have discovered the 
Indian names of various places and objects in 
the neighborhood, and have found them infi- 
nitely superior to the trite, poverty-stricken 
names which had been given by the settlers. 
A beautiful pastoral stream, for instance, 
which winds for man}' a mile through one of 
the loveliest little valleys in the State, has 
long been known by the commonplace name 
of the "Saw-mill River." In the old Indian 
grants it is designated as the Neperan. An- 
other, a perfectly wizard stream, which winds 
through the wildest recesses of Sleepy Hollow, 
bears the humdrum name of Mill Creek ; in 
the Indian grants it sustains the euphonious 
title of the Pocantico. 

Similar researches have released Long Island 
from many of those paltry and vulgar names 
which fringed its beautiful shores, — their Cow 
Bays, and Cow Necks, and Oyster Ponds, and 



196 IReviews ano dIMscellantee 

Musquito Coves, which spread a spell of vul- 
garity over the whole island, and kept persons 
of taste and fancy at a distance. 

It would be an object worthy the attention 
of the historical societies, which are springing 
up in various parts of the Union, to have maps 
executed of the respective States or neighbor- 
hoods, in which all the local Indian names 
should, as far as possible, be restored. In fact, 
it appears to me that the nomenclature of the 
country is almost of sufficient importance for the 
foundation of a distinct society ; or rather, a 
corresponding association of persons of taste 
and judgment, of all parts of the Union. Such 
an association, if properly constituted and com- 
posed, comprising especially all the literary 
talent of the country, though it might not have 
legislative power in its enactments, yet would 
have the all-pervading power of the Press ; 
and the changes in nomenclature which it 
might dictate, being at once adopted by ele- 
gant writers in prose and poetry, and inter- 
woven with the literature of the country, would 
ultimately pass into popular currency. 

Should such a reforming association arise, I 
beg to recommend to its attention all those 
mongrel names that have the adjective New 
prefixed to them, and pray they may be one 
and all kicked out of the country. I am for 



"National Bcmenclature 197 

none of these second-hand appellations that 
stamp us a second-hand people, and that are 
to perpetuate us a new country to the end of 
time. Odds my life ! Mr. Editor, I hope and 
trust we are to live to be an old nation, as well 
as our neighbors, and have no idea that our 
cities, when they shall have attained to vener- 
able antiquity, shall still be dubbed New York 
and New London, and new this and new that, 
like the Pont Neuf (the New Bridge) at Paris, 
which is the oldest bridge in that capital, or 
like the Vicar of Wakefield's horse, which 
continued to be called "the colt" until he 
died of old age. 

Speaking of New York, reminds me of some 
observations which I met with some time since, 
in one of the public papers, about the name of 
our State and city. The writer proposes to 
substitute for the present names, those of the 
State of Ontario and the City of Manhattan. 
I concur in his suggestion most heartily. 
Though born ahcHbrought up in the city of 
New York, and though I love every stick and 
stone about it, yet I do not, nor ever did, 
relish its name. I like neither its sound nor 
its significance. As to its significance, the very 
adjective new gives to our great commercial 
metropolis a second-hand character, as if refer- 
ring to some older, more dignified, and impor- 



198 IReviews anfc /IMscellaniea 

tant place, of which it was a mere copy ; 
though in fact, if I am rightly informed, the 
whole name commemorates a grant by Charles 
II. to his brother, the Duke of York, made in 
the spirit of royal munificence, of a tract of 
country which did not belong to him. As to 
the sound, what can you make of it either in 
poetry or prose ? New York ! Why, sir, if it 
were to share the fate of Troy itself ; to suffer 
a ten years' siege, and be sacked and plun- 
dered ; no modern Homer would ever be able 
to elevate the name to epic dignity. 

Now, sir, Ontario would be a name worthy 
of the Empire State. It bears with it the 
majesty of that internal sea which washes our 
northwestern shore. Or, if any objection 
should be made, from its not being completely 
embraced within our boundaries, there is the 
Mohegan, one of the Indian names for that 
glorious river, the Hudson, which would fur- 
nish an excellent State appellation. So also 
New York might be called Manhatta, as it is 
named in some of the early records, and Man- 
hattan used as the adjective. Manhattan, 
however, stands well as a substantive, and 
" Manhattanese," which I observe Mr. Cooper 
has adopted in some of his writings, would be 
a very good appellation for a citizen of the 
commercial metropolis. 



National Nomenclature iyg 

A word or two more, Mr. Editor, and I have 
done. We want a national name. We want 
it poetically, and we want it politically. With 
the poetical necessity of the case I shall not 
trouble myself. I leave it to our poets to tell 
how they manage to steer that collocation of 
words, "The United States of North Amer- 
ica," down the swelling tide of song, and to 
float the whole raft out upon the sea of heroic 
poesy. I am now speaking of the mere pur- 
poses ol common life. How is a citizen of this 
republic to designate himself? As an Ameri- 
can ? There are two Americas, each subdi- 
vided into various empires, rapidly rising in 
importance. As a citizen of the United States ? 
It is a clumsy, lumbering title, yet still it is 
not distinctive ; for we have now the United 
States of Central America, and Heaven knows 
how many ' ' United States ' ' may spring up 
under the Proteus changes of Spanish America. 

This may appear matter of small concern- 
ment ; but any one that has travelled in 
foreign countries must be conscious of the 
embarrassment and circumlocution sometimes 
occasioned by the want of a perfectly distinct 
and explicit national appellation. In France, 
when I have announced myself as an Ameri- 
can, I have been supposed to belong to one 
of the French colonies ; in Spain, to be from 



2oo TReviews and /BMscellanieg 

Mexico, or Peru, or some other Spanish- Ameri- 
can country. Repeatedly have I found myself 
involved in a long geographical and political 
definition of my national identity. 

Now, sir, meaning no disrespect to any of 
our coheirs of this great quarter of the world, 
I am for none of this coparceny in a name, 
that is to mingle us up with the riff-raff colo- 
nies and off-sets of every nation of Europe. 
The title of American may serve to tell the 
quarter of the world to which I belong, the 
same as a Frenchman or an Englishman may 
call himself a European ; but I want my own 
peculiar national name to rally under. I want 
an appellation that shall tell at once, and in a 
way not to be mistaken, that I belong to this 
very portion of America, geographical and 
political, to which it is my pride and happiness 
to belong ; that I am of the Anglo-Saxon race 
which founded this Anglo-Saxon empire in 
the wilderness ; and that I have no part or 
parcel with any other race or empire, Spanish, 
French, or Portuguese, in either of the Amer- 
icas. Such an appellation, sir, would have 
magic in it. It would bind every part of the 
confederacy together, as with a key- stone ; it 
would be a passport to the citizen of our re- 
public throughout the world. 

We have it in our power to furnish ourselves 



National Nomenclature 201 

with such a national appellation, from one of 
the grand and eternal features of our country ; 
from that noble chain of mountains which 
formed its backbone, and ran through the 
' ' old confederacy, ' ' when it first declared our 
national independence. I allude to the Appa- 
lachian or Alleghany mountains. We might 
do this without any very inconvenient change 
in our present titles. We might still use the 
phrase "The United States," substituting 
Appalachia, or Alleghania (I should prefer 
the latter) in place of America. The title of 
Appalachian, or Alleghanian, would still an- 
nounce us as Americans, but would specify us 
as citizens of the Great Republic. Even our 
old national cypher of U. S. A. might remain 
unaltered, designating the United States of 
Alleghania. ~V^ 

These are crude ideas, Mr. Editor, hastily 
thrown out, to elicit the ideas of others, and to 
call attention to a subject of more national 
importance than may at first be supposed. 

Very respectfully yours, 

Gkoffrky Crayon. 



Desultory Ubouabts on Criticism* 

" Let a man write never so well, there are nowadays 
a sort of persons they call critics, that, egad, have no 
more wit in them than so many hobby-horses ; but 
they '11 laugh at you, sir, and find fault, and censure 
things, that, egad, I 'm sure they are not able to do 
themselves ; a sort of envious persons, that emulate 
the glories of persons of parts, and think to build 
their fame by calumniation of persons that, egad, to 
my knowledge, of all persons in the world, are in 
nature the persons that do as much despise all that, 
as — a — In fine, I '11 say no more of 'em ! " 

Rehearsal. 



A 1,1, the world knows the story of the tem- 
pest-tossed voyager, who, coming upon 
a strange coast, and seeing a man hang- 
ing in chains, hailed it with joy as the 
sign of a civilized country . In like manner we 
may hail, as a proof of the rapid advancement 
of civilization and refinement in this country, 
the increasing number of delinquent authors 
daily gibbeted for the edification of the public. 

202 



Desultory Gbouabts on Criticism 203 

In this respect, as in every other, we are 
"going ahead " with accelerated velocity, and 
promising to outstrip the superannuated coun- 
tries of Europe. It is really astonishing to see 
the number of tribunals incessantly springing 
up for the trial of literary offences. Indepen- 
dent of the high courts of Oyer and Terminer, 
the great quarterly reviews, we have innumer- 
able minor tribunals, monthly and weekly, 
down to the Pie-poudre courts in the daily 
papers ; insomuch that no culprit stands so 
little chance of escaping castigation as an un- 
lucky author, guilty of an unsuccessful attempt 
to please the public. 

Seriously speaking, however, it is question- 
able whether our national literature is suffi- 
ciently advanced to bear this excess of criticism ; 
and whether it would not thrive better if al- 
lowed to spring up, for some time longer, in 
the freshness and vigor of native vegetation. 
When the worthy Judge Coulter, of Virginia, 
opened court for the first time in one of the 
upper counties, he was for enforcing all the 
rules and regulations that had grown into use 
in the old, long-settled counties. "This is all 
very well," said a shrewd old farmer, "but 
let me tell you, Judge Coulter, you set your 
coulter too deep for a new soil." 

For my part, I doubt whether either writer 



204 IRevievvs an& Miscellanies 

or reader is benefited by what is commonly 
called criticism. The former is rendered cau- 
tions and distrustful ; he fears to give way to 
those kindling emotions, and brave sallies of 
thought, which bear him up to excellence ; 
the latter is made fastidious and cynical ; or 
rather, he surrenders his own independent 
taste and judgment, and learns to like and 
dislike at second hand. 

Let us, for a moment, consider the nature 
of this thing called criticism, which exerts 
such a sway over the literary world. The pro- 
noun we, used by critics, has a most imposing 
and delusive sound. The reader pictures to 
himself a conclave of learned men, deliberating 
gravely and scrupulously on the merits of the 
book in question ; examining it page by page, 
comparing and balancing their opinions, and 
when they have united in a conscientious ver- 
dict, publishing it for the benefit of the world : 
whereas the criticism is generally the crude 
and hasty production of an individual, scrib- 
bling to while away an idle hour, to oblige 
a bookseller, or to defray current expenses. 
How often is it the passing notion of the hour, 
affected by accidental circumstances ; by in- 
disposition, by peevishness, by vapors or indi- 
gestion, by personal prejudice or party feeling. 
Sometimes a work is sacrificed because the 



2>esulton? Gbougbts on Criticism 205 

reviewer wishes a satirical article ; sometimes 
because he wants a humorous one ; and some- 
times because the author reviewed has become 
offensively celebrated, and offers high game 
to the literary marksman. 

How often would the critic himself, if a con- 
scientious man, reverse his opinion, had he 
time to revise it in a more sunny moment ; but 
the press is waiting, the printer's devil is at 
his elbow, the article is wanted to make the 
requisite variety for the number of the review, 
or the author has pressing occasion for the 
sum he is to receive for the article ; so it is 
sent off, all blotted and blurred, with a shrug 
of the shoulders, and the consolatory ejacu- 
lation, " Pshaw ! "curse it ! it 's nothing but a 
review ! ' ' 

The critic, too, who dictates thus oracularly 
to the world, is perhaps some dingy, ill-favored, 
ill-mannered varlet, who, were he to speak by 
word of mouth, would be disregarded, if not 
scoffed at ; but such is the magic of types ; 
such the mystic operation of anonymous 
writing ; such the potential effect of the pro- 
noun we, that his crude decisions, fulminated 
through the press, become circulated far and 
wide, control the opinions of the world, and 
give or destroy reputation. 

Many readers have grown timorous in their 



206 IRevtews anfc dftiscellanies 

judgments since the all-pervading currency 
of criticism. They fear to express a revised, 
frank opinion about any new work, and to 
relish it honestly and heartily, lest it should be 
condemned in the next review, and they stand 
convicted of bad taste. Hence they hedge 
their opinions, like a gambler his bets, and 
leave an opening to retract, and retreat, and 
qualify, and neutralize every unguarded ex- 
pression of delight, until their very praise de- 
clines into a faintness that is damning. 

Were every one, on the contrary, to judge 
for himself, and speak his mind frankly and 
fearlessly, we should have more true criticism 
in the world than at present. Whenever a 
person is pleased with a work, he may be as- 
sured that it has good qualities. An author 
who pleases a variety of readers, must possess 
substantial powers of pleasing ; or in other 
words, intrinsic merits ; for otherwise we 
acknowledge an effect and deny the cause. 
The reader, therefore, should not suffer him- 
self to be readily shaken from the conviction 
of his own feelings by the sweeping censures 
of pseudo-critics. The author he has admired 
may be chargeable with a thousand faults ; 
but it is nevertheless beauties and excellences 
that have excited his admiration ; and he 
should recollect that taste and judgment are as 



Desultory Gbouctbts on Criticism 207 

much evinced in the perception of beauties 
among defects, as in a detection of defects 
among beauties. For my part, I honor the 
blessed and blessing spirit that is quick to dis- 
cover and extol all that is pleasing and meritori- 
ous. Give me the honest bee, that extracts 
honey from the humblest weed, but save me 
from the ingenuity of the spider, which traces 
its venom even in the midst of a flower-garden. 
If the mere fact of being chargeable with 
faults and imperfections is to condemn an au- 
thor, who is to escape ? The greatest writers 
of antiquity have, in this way, been obnoxious 
to criticism. Aristotle himself has been ac- 
cused of ignorance ; Aristophanes of impiety 
and buffoonery ; Virgil of plagiarism, and a 
want of invention ; Horace of obscurity ; Cice- 
ro has been said to want vigor and connec- 
tion, and Demosthenes to be deficient in nature, 
and in purity of language. Yet these have 
all survived the censures of the critic, and 
flourished on to a glorious immortality. Every 
now and then, the world is startled by some 
new doctrines in matters of taste, some level- 
ling attacks on established creeds ; some sweep- 
ing denunciations of whole generations or 
schools of writers, as they are called, who had 
seemed to be embalmed and canonized in pub- 
lic opinion. Such has been the case, for in- 



208 IReviews an& /HMscellanies 

stance, with Pope, and Dryden, and Addison ; 
who for a time have almost been shaken from 
their pedestals, and treated as false idols. 

It is singular, also, to see the fickleness of 
the world with respect to its favorites. En- 
thusiasm exhausts itself, and prepares the way 
for dislike. The public is always for positive 
sentiments, and new sensations. When wea- 
ried of admiring, it delights to censure ; thus 
coining a double set of enjo}^ments out of the 
same subject. Scott and Byron are scarce cold 
in their graves, and already we find criticism 
beginning to call in question those powers 
which held the world in magic thraldom. 
Even in our own country, one of its greatest 
geniuses has had some rough passages with the 
censors of the press ; and instantly criticism 
begins to unsay all that it has repeatedly said 
in his praise ; and the public are almost led to 
believe that the pen which has so often de- 
lighted them is absolutely destitute of the 
power to delight ! 

If, then, such reverses in opinion as to mat- 
ters of taste can be so readily brought about, 
when may an author feel himself secure ? 
Where is the anchoring-ground of popularity, 
when he may thus be driven from his moor- 
ings, and foundered even in harbor? The 
reader, too, when is he to consider himself 



5)esultorg {Ebougbts on Criticism 209 



safe in admiring, when he sees long-established 
altars overthrown, and his household deities 
dashed to the ground ? 

There is one consolatory reflection. Every 
abuse carries with it its own remedy or pallia- 
tion. Thus the excess of crude and hasty 
criticism, which has of late prevailed through- 
out the literary world, and threatened to over- 
run our country, begins to produce its own 
antidote. Where there is a multiplicity of 
contradictory paths, a man must make his 
choice ; in so doing, he has to exercise his 
judgment, and -that is one great step to men- 
tal independence. He begins to doubt all, 
where all differ, and but one can be in the 
right. He is driven to trust his own discern- 
ment, and his natural feelings ; and here he is 
most likely to be safe. The author, too, find- 
ing that what is condemned at one tribunal is 
applauded at another, though perplexed for a 
time, gives way at length to the spontaneous 
impulse of his genius, and the dictates of his 
taste, and writes in the way most natural to 
himself. It is thus that criticism, which by 
its severity may have held the little world of 
writers in check, may, by its very excess, dis- 
arm itself of its terrors, and the hardihood of 
talent become restored. 




Gommunipaw. 

To THE Editor of The Knickerbocker : 

SIR, — I observe with pleasure that you are 
performing, from time to time, a pious 
duty, imposed upon you, I may say, by 
the name you have adopted as your 
titular standard, in following in the footsteps of 
the venerable Knickerbocker, and gleaning every 
fact concerning the early times of the Manhat- 
toes, which may have escaped his hand. I 
trust, therefore, a few particulars, legendary 
and statistical, concerning a place which figures 
conspicuously in the early pages of his history, 
will not be unacceptable. I allude, sir, to the 
ancient and renowned village of Communipaw, 
which, according to the veracious Diedrich, 
and to equally veracious tradition, was the first 
spot where our ever-to-be-lamented Dutch pro- 
genitors planted their standard, and cast the 
seeds of empire, and from whence subsequently 
sailed the memorable expedition under Oloffe 



Communipaw 



the Dreamer, which landed on the opposite 
island of Manhatta, and founded the present 
city of New York, — the city of dreams and 
speculations. 

Communipaw, therefore, may truly be called 
the parent of New York ; yet it is an astonish- 
ing fact, that though immediately opposite to 
the great city it has produced, from whence its 
red roofs and tin weathercocks can actually be 
descried peering above the surrounding apple 
orchards, it should be almost as rarely visited, 
and as little known by the inhabitants of the 
metropolis, as if it had been locked up among 
the Rocky Mountains. Sir, I think there is 
something unnatural in this, especially in these 
times of ramble and research, when our citizens 
are antiquity-hunting in every part of the world. 
Curiosity, like charity, should begin at home ; 
and I would enjoin it on our worthy burghers, 
especially those of the real Knickerbocker 
breed, before they send their sons abroad, to 
wonder and grow wise among the remains of 
Greece and Rome, to let them make a tour of 
ancient Pavonia, from Weehawk even to the 
Kills, and meditate, with filial reverence, on 
the moss-grown mansions of Communipaw. 

Sir, I regard this much-neglected village 
as one of the most remarkable places in the 
country. The intelligent traveller, as he looks 



212 IRevtews anD /nMscellanies 

down upon it from the Bergen Heights, 
modestly nestled among its cabbage-gardens, 
while the great flaunting city it has begotten 
is stretching far and wide on the opposite side 
of the bay, the intelligent traveller, I say, will 
be filled with astonishment ; not, sir, at the 
village of Communipaw, which in truth is a 
very small village, but at the almost incredible 
fact that so small a village should have pro- 
duced so great a city. It looks to him, indeed, 
like some squat little dame with a tall grena- 
dier of a son strutting by her side ; or some sim- 
ple-hearted hen that has unwittingly hatched 
out a long-legged turkey. 

But this is not all for which Communipaw is 
remarkable. Sir, it is interesting on another 
account. It is to the ancient Province of the 
New Netherlands, and the classic era of the 
Dutch dynasty, what Herculaneum and Pom- 
peii are to ancient Rome and the glorious 
days of the Empire. Here everything remains 
in statu quo, as it was in the days of Oloffe the 
Dreamer, Walter the Doubter, and the other 
worthies of the golden age ; the same broad- 
brimmed hats and broad -bottomed breeches ; 
the same knee buckles and shoe buckles ; the 
same close-quilled caps, and linsey-woolsey 
short-gowns and petticoats ; the same imple- 
ments and utensils, and forms and fashions ; in 



Communipaw 213 



a word, Communipaw at the present day is a 
picture of what New Amsterdam was before 
the conquest. The "intelligent traveller," 
aforesaid, as he treads its streets, is struck with 
the primitive character of everything around 
him. Instead of Grecian temples for dwelling- 
houses, with a great column of pine boards in 
the way of every window, he beholds high, 
peaked roofs, gable-ends to the street, with 
weathercocks at top, and windows of all sorts 
and sizes, — large ones for the grown-up mem- 
bers of the family, and little ones for the little 
folk. Instead of cold marble porches, with 
close-locked doors, and brass knockers, he sees 
the doors hospitably open ; the worthy burgher 
smoking his pipe on the old-fashioned stoop in 
front, with his " vrouw " knitting beside him ; 
and the cat and her kittens at their feet, sleep- 
ing in the sunshine. 

Astonished at the obsolete and " old-world " 
air of everything around him, the intelligent 
traveller demands how all this has come to 
pass. Herculaneum and Pompeii remain, it 
is true, unaffected by the varying fashions of 
centuries ; but they were buried by a volcano 
and preserved in ashes. What charmed spell 
has kept this wonderful little place unchanged, 
though in sight of the most changeful city in 
the universe ? Has it, too, been buried under 



214 Reviews anfc dlMsceUames 

its cabbage-gardens, and only dug out in 
modern days for the wonder and edification of 
the world? The reply involves a point of 
history, worthy of notice and record, and re- 
flecting immortal honor on Communipaw 7 . 

At the time when New Amsterdam was 
invaded and conquered by British foes, as has 
been related in the history of the venerable 
Diedrich, a great dispersion took place among 
the Dutch inhabitants. Many, like the illus- 
trious Peter Stuyvesant, buried themselves in 
rural retreats in the Bowerie ; others, like 
Wolfert Acker, took refuge in various remote 
parts of the Hudson ; but there was one stanch, 
unconquerable band, that determined to keep 
together, and preserve themselves, like seed- 
corn, for the future fructification and perpetuity 
of the Knickerbocker race. These were headed 
by one Garret Van Home, a gigantic Dutch- 
man, the Pelayo of the New Netherlands. 
Under his guidance, they retreated across the 
bay, and buried themselves among the marshes 
of ancient Pavonia, as did the followers of 
Pelayo among the mountains of Asturias, when 
Spain was overrun by its Arabian invaders. 

The gallant Van Home set up his standard 
at Communipaw, and invited all those to rally 
under it who were true Nederlanders at heart, 
and determined to resist all foreign intermix- 



Communipaw 215 



ture or encroachment. A strict non -intercourse 
was observed with the captured city ; not a boat 
ever crossed to it from Communipaw, and the 
English language was rigorously tabooed 
throughout the village and its dependencies. 
Every man was sworn to wear his hat, cut his 
coat, build his house, and harness his horses, 
exactly as his father had done before him ; and 
to permit nothing but the Dutch language to 
be spoken in his household. 

As a citadel of the place, and a stronghold 
for the preservation and defence of everything 
Dutch, the gallant Van Home erected a lordly 
mansion, with a chimney perched at every 
corner, which thence derived the aristocratical 
name of "The House of the Four Chimneys." 
Hither he transferred many of the precious 
relics of New Amsterdam, — the great round- 
crowned hat that once covered the capacious 
head of Walter the Doubter, and the identical 
shoe with which Peter the Headstrong kicked 
his pusillanimous councillors down stairs. 
Saint Nicholas, it is said, took this loyal house 
under his especial protection ; and a Dutch 
soothsayer predicted that, as long as it should 
stand, Communipaw would be safe from the 
intrusion either of Briton or Yankee. 

In this house would the gallant Van Home 
and his compeers hold frequent councils of war, 



2i6 "Reviews and flMscellanies 

as to the possibility of re-conquering the Prov- 
ince from the British ; and here they would 
sit for hours, nay, days together, smoking their 
pipes, and keeping watch upon the growing 
city of New York ; groaning in spirit whenever 
they saw a new house erected, or ship launched, 
and persuading themselves that Admiral Van 
Tromp would one day or other arrive, to sweep 
out the invaders with the broom which he car- 
ried at his mast-head. 

Years rolled by, but Van Tromp never ar- 
rived. The British strengthened themselves 
in the land, and the captured city flourished 
under their domination. Still the worthies of 
Communipaw would not despair ; something 
or other, they were sure, would turn up, to re- 
store the power of the Hogen Mogens, the Lord 
States General ; so they kept smoking and 
smoking, and watching and watching, and 
turning the same few thoughts over and over 
in a perpetual circle, which is commonly called 
deliberating. In the meantime, being hemmed 
up within a narrow compass, between the broad 
bay and the Bergen hills, they grew poorer and 
poorer, until they had scarce the wherewithal 
to maintain their pipes in fuel during their end- 
less deliberations. 

And now must I relate a circumstance which 
will call for a little exertion of faith on the part 



Communipaw 217 



of the reader ; but I can only say that if he 
doubts it he had better not utter his doubts in 
Communipaw, as it is among the religious be- 
liefs of the place. It is, in fact, nothing more 
nor less than a miracle, worked by the blessed 
Saint Nicholas, for the relief and sustenance 
of this loyal community. 

It so happened, in this time of extremity, 
that in the course of cleaning the House of the 
Four Chimneys, by an ignorant housewife, who 
knew nothing of the historic value of the relics 
it contained, the old hat of Walter the Doubter, 
and the executive shoe of Peter the Headstrong, 
were thrown out of doors as rubbish. But 
mark the consequence. The good Saint Nich- 
olas kept watch over these precious relics, and 
wrought out of them a wonderful providence. 

The hat of Walter the Doubter, falling on a 
stercoraceous heap of compost, in the rear of 
the house, began forthwith to vegetate. Its 
broad brim spread forth grandly, and exfoliated, 
and its round crown swelled, and crimped, and 
consolidated, until the whole became a prodi- 
gious cabbage, rivalling in magnitude the capa- 
cious head of the Doubter. In a word, it was 
the origin of that renowned species of cabbage, 
known by all Dutch epicures by the name of 
the Governor's Head, and which is to this day 
the glory of Communipaw. 



2i8 IRexuews anD flMscellanies 

On the other hand, the shoe of Peter Stuy- 
vesant, being thrown into the river, in front of 
the house, gradually hardened, and concreted, 
and became covered with barnacles, and at 
length turned into a gigantic oyster ; being the 
progenitor of that illustrious species, known 
throughout the gastronomical world by the 
name of the Governor's Foot. 

These miracles were the salvation of Com- 
munipaw. The sages of the place immediately 
saw in them the hand of Saint Nicholas, and 
understood their mystic signification. They 
set to work, with all diligence, to cultivate and 
multiply these great blessings ; and so abun- 
dantly did the gubernatorial hat and shoe 
fructify and increase, that in a little time great 
patches of cabbages were to be seen extending 
from the village of Communipaw quite to the 
Bergen Hills ; while the whole bottom of the 
bay in front became a vast bed of oysters. 
Ever since that time, this excellent community 
has been divided into two great classes — those 
who cultivate the land, and those who cultivate 
the water. The former have devoted them- 
selves to the nurture and edification of cabbages, 
rearing them in all their varieties ; while the 
latter have formed parks and plantations under 
water, to which juvenile oysters are trans- 



Communipaw 219 



planted from foreign parts, to finish their edu- 
cation. 

As these great sources of profit multiplied 
upon their hands, the worthy inhabitants of 
Communipaw began to long for a market, at 
which to dispose of their superabundance. 
This gradually produced, once more, an inter- 
course with New York ; but it was always car- 
ried on by the old people and the negroes ; never 
would they permit the young folks, of either 
sex, to visit the city, lest they should get 
tainted with foreign manners, and bring home 
foreign fashions. Even to this day, if you see 
an old burgher in the market, with hat and 
garb of antique Dutch fashion, you may be sure 
he is one of the old unconquered race of the 
1 ' bitter blood," who maintain their stronghold 
at Communipaw. 

In modern days, the hereditary bitterness 
against the English has lost much of its asper- 
ity, or rather has become merged in a new 
source of jealousy and apprehension. I allude 
to the incessant and wide-spreading irruptions 
from New England. Word has been continu- 
ally brought back to Communipaw, by those 
of the community who return from their trad- 
ing voyages in cabbages and oysters, of the 
alarming power which the Yankees are gaining 
in the ancient city of New Amsterdam ; elbow- 



220 IReviews and flMecellanies 

ing the genuine Knickerbockers out of all civic 
posts of honor and profit ; bargaining them out 
of their hereditary homesteads ; pulling down 
the venerable houses, with crowstep gables, 
which have stood since the time of the Dutch 
rule, and erecting, instead, granite stores and 
marble banks ; in a word, evincing a deadly 
determination to obliterate every vestige of the 
good old Dutch times. 

In consequence of the jealousy thus awak- 
ened, the worthy traders from Communipaw 
confine their dealings, as much as possible, to 
the genuine Dutch families. If they furnish 
the Yankees at all, it is with inferior articles. 
Never can the latter procure a real ' ' Governor's 
Head," or "Governor's Foot," though they 
have offered extravagant prices for the same, to 
grace their table on the annual festival of the 
New England Society. 

But what has carried this hostility to the 
Yankees to the highest pitch, was an attempt 
made by that all-pervading race to get posses- 
sion of Communipaw itself. Yes, sir ; during 
the late mania for land speculation, a daring 
company of Yankee projectors landed before 
the village, stopped the honest burghers on 
the public highway, and endeavored to bargain 
them out of their hereditary acres ; displayed 
lithographic maps, in which their cabbage- 



Communipaw 221 



gardens were laid out into town lots ; their 
oyster-parks into docks and quays ; and even 
the " House of the Four Chimneys" meta- 
morphosed into a bank, which was to enrich 
the whole neighborhood w T ith paper money. 

Fortunately, the gallant Van Homes came 
to the rescue, just as some of the worthy 
burghers were on the point of capitulating. 
The Yankees were put to the rout, with signal 
confusion, and have never since dared to show 
their faces in the place. The good peop]* 
continue to cultivate their cabbages, and rear 
their oysters ; they know nothing of banks, 
nor joint-stock companies, but treasure up 
their money in stocking-feet, at the bottom 
of the family chest, or bury it in iron pots, 
as did their fathers and grandfathers before 
them. 

As to the ' ' House of the Four Chimneys, ' ' 
it still remains in the great and tall family of 
the Van Homes. Here are to be seen ancient 
Dutch corner cupboards, chests of drawers, 
and massive clothes-presses, quaintly carved, 
and carefully waxed and polished ; together 
with divers thick, black-letter volumes, with 
brass clasps, printed of yore in Leyden and 
Amsterdam, and handed down from genera- 
tion to generation, in the family, but never 
read. They are preserved in the archives, 



222 IReviews anD fllMscellantes 

among sundry old parchment deeds, in Dutch 
and English, bearing the seals of the early 
governors of the province. 

In this house, the primitive Dutch holidays 
of Paas and Pinxter are faithfully kept up ; 
and New- Year celebrated with cookies and 
cherry -bounce ; nor is the festival of the 
blessed Saint Nicholas forgotten, when all the 
children are sure to hang up their stockings, 
and to have them filled according to their 
^eserts ; though it is said the good saint is 
occasionally perplexed, in his nocturnal visits, 
which chimney to descend. 

Of late this portentous mansion has begun 
to give signs of dilapidation and decay. Some 
have attributed this to the visits made b} T the 
young people to the city, and their bringing 
thence various modern fashions ; and to their 
neglect of the Dutch language, which is 
gradually becoming confined to the older per- 
sons in the community. The house, too, was 
greatly shaken by high winds during the prev- 
alence of the speculation mania, especially 
at the time of the landing of the Yankees. 
Seeing how mysteriously the fate of Com- 
munipaw is identified with this venerable 
mansion, we cannot wonder that the older 
and wiser heads of the communit3 T should be 
filled with disma3 T whenever a brick is toppled 



Communipaw 223 



down from one of the chimneys, or a weather- 
cock is blown off from a gable-end. 

The present lord of this historic pile, I am 
happy to say, is calculated to maintain it in 
all its integrity. He is of patriarchal age, 
and is worthy of the days of the patriarchs. 
He has done his utmost to increase and multi- 
ply the true race in the land. His wife has 
not been inferior to him in zeal, and they are 
surrounded by a goodly progeny of children 
and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, 
who promise to perpetuate the name of Van 
Home until time shall be no more. So be it ! 
Long may the horn of the Van Homes con- 
tinue to be exalted in the land ! Tall as they 
are, may their shadows never be less ! May 
the ' ' House of the Four Chimneys ' ' remain 
for ages the citadel of Communipaw, and the 
smoke of its chimneys continue to ascend, a 
sweet-smelling incense in the nose of Saint 
Nicholas ! 

With great respect, Mr. Editor, 

Your ob't servant, 

Hermanus Vanderdonk. 



Conspiracy of tbe Gocfeeo TCmts. 

To THE Editor of The Knickerbocker : 

SIR, — I have read, with great satisfaction, 
the valuable paper of your correspond- 
ent, Mr. Her in anus Vanderdonk (who, 
I take it, is a descendant of the learned 
Adrian Vanderdonk, one of the early historians 
of the Nieuw-Nederlands), giving sundry par- 
ticulars, legendary and statistical, touching 
the venerable village of Communipaw, and 
its fate-bound citadel, the " House of the Four 
Chimneys." It goes to prove, what I have 
repeatedly maintained, that we live in the 
midst of history, and mystery, and romance ; 
and that there is no spot in the world more 
rich in themes for the writer of historic novels, 
heroic melodramas, and rough-shod epics, than 
this same business-looking city of the Man- 
hattoes and its environs. He who would find 
these elements, however, must not seek them 
among the modern improvements and modern 
224 



Conspiracy of tbe Gocfceo Ibats 225 

people of this moneyed metropolis, but must 
dig for them, as for Kidd the pirate's treasures, 
in out-of-the-way places, and among the ruins 
of the past. 

Poetry and romance received a fatal blow at 
the overthrow of the ancient Dutch dynasty, 
and have ever since been gradually withering 
under the growing domination of the Yan- 
kees. They abandoned our hearths when the 
old Dutch tiles were superseded by marble 
chimney-pieces ; when brass andirons made 
way for polished grates, and the crackling 
and blazing fire of nut-wood gave place to 
the smoke and stench of Liverpool coal ; and 
on the downfall of the last gable-end house, 
their requiem was tolled from the tower of the 
Dutch church in Nassau Street, by the old 
bell that came from Holland. But poetry and 
romance still live unseen among us, or seen 
only by the enlightened few who are able to 
contemplate this city and its environs through 
the medium of tradition, and clothed with the 
associations of foregone ages. 

Would you seek these elements in the coun- 
try, Mr. Editor, avoid all turnpikes, railroads, 
and steamboats, those abominable inventions 
by which the usurping Yankees are strength- 
ening themselves in the land, and subduing 
everything to utility and commonplace. Avoid 



226 IRetnews an& Miscellanies 

all towns and cities of white clapboard palaces, 
and Grecian temples, studded with ' ' Acad- 
emies," "Seminaries," and "Institutes," 
which glisten along our bays and rivers ; 
these are the strongholds of Yankee usurpa- 
tion ; but if haply you light upon some rough, 
rambling road, winding between stone fences, 
gray with moss, and overgrown with elder, 
pokeberry, mullen, and sweetbrier, with here 
and there a low, red-roofed, whitewashed farm- 
house, cowering among apple and cherry 
trees ; an old stone church, with elms, willows, 
and button-woods as old-looking as itself, and 
tombstones almost buried in their own graves ; 
and, peradventure, a small log school-house, 
at a cross-road, where the English is still 
taught with a thickness of the tongue, instead 
of a twang of the nose ; should you, I say, 
light upon such a neighborhood, Mr. Editor, 
you may thank your stars that you have found 
one of the lingering haunts of poetry and 
romance. 

Your correspondent, sir, has touched upon 
that sublime and affecting feature in the his- 
tory of Communipaw, the retreat of the patri- 
otic band of Nederlanders, led by Van Home, 
whom he justly terms the Pela3 r o of the New 
Netherlands. He has given you a picture of 
the manner in which they ensconced them- 



Conspiracy ot tbe Gockeo t)ats 227 

selves in the ' ' House of the Four Chimneys, ' ' 
and awaited with heroic patience and persever- 
ance the day that should see the flag of the 
Hogen Mogens once more floating on the fort 
of New Amsterdam. 

Your correspondent, sir, has but given you 
a glimpse over the threshold ; I will now let 
you into the heart of the mystery of this most 
mysterious and eventful village. Yes, sir, I 
will now 

11 unclasp a secret book ; 
And to your quick conceiving discontents, 
I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous, 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit, 
As to o'er walk a current, roaring loud, 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear." 

Sir, it is one of the most beautiful and inter- 
esting facts connected with the history of Com- 
munipaw, that the early feeling of resistance to 
foreign rule, alluded to by your correspondent, 
is still kept up. Yes, sir, a settled, secret, and 
determined conspiracy has been going on for 
generations among this indomitable people, the 
descendants of the refugees from New Amster- 
dam, the object of which is to redeem their 
ancient seat of empire, and to drive the losel 
Yankees out of the land. 

Communipaw, it is true, has the glory of 
originating this conspiracy ; and it was 



228 IReviews anfc /HMscellantes 

hatched and reared in the ' ' House of the Four 
Chimneys, ' ' but it has spread far and wide over 
ancient Pavonia, surmounted the heights of 
Bergen, Hoboken, and Weekawk, crept up 
along the banks of the Passaic and the Hacken- 
sack, until it pervades the whole chivalry of 
the country, from Tappan Slote, in the North, 
to Piscataway, in the South, including the 
pugnacious village of Rahway, more heroically 
denominated Spank-town. 

Throughout all these regions, a great ' ' in- 
and-in confederacy ' ' prevails ; that is to say, 
a confederacy among the Dutch families, by 
dint of diligent and exclusive intermarriage, to 
keep the race pure, and to multiply. If ever, 
Mr. Editor, in the course of your travels 
between Spank-town and Tappan Slote, you 
should see a cosey, low-eaved farmhouse, 
teeming with sturdy, broad-built little urchins, 
you may set it down as one of the breeding- 
places of this grand secret confederacy, stocked 
with the embryo deliverers of New Amster- 
dam. 

Another step in the progress of this patriotic 
conspiracy is the establishment, in various 
places within the ancient boundaries of the 
Nieuw-Nederlands, of secret, or rather myste- 
rious, associations, composed of the genuine 
sons of the Nederlanders, with the ostensible 



Conspiracy of tbe Cocked 1bate 229 



object of keeping up the memory of old times 
and customs, but with the real object of pro- 
moting the views of this dark and mighty 
plot, and extending its ramifications through- 
out the land. 

Sir, I am descended from a long line of genu- 
ine Nederlanders, who, though they remained 
in the city of New Amsterdam after the con- 
quest, and throughout the usurpation, have 
never in their hearts been able to tolerate the 
yoke imposed upon them. My worthy father, 
who was one of the last of the cocked hats, had 
a little knot of cronies, of his own stamp, who 
used to meet in our wainscoted parlor, round a 
nut-wood fire, talk over old times, when the 
city was ruled by its native burgomasters, and 
groan over the monopoly of all places of power 
and profit by the Yankees. I well recollect the 
effect upon this worthy little conclave when the 
Yankees first instituted their New-Kngland 
Society, held their " national festival," toasted 
their " fatherland," and sang their foreign 
songs of triumph within the very precincts of 
our ancient metropolis. Sir, from that day, 
my father held the smell of codfish and pota- 
toes, and the sight of pumpkin-pie, in utter 
abomination ; and whenever the annual din- 
ner of the New-England Society came round, 
it was a sore anniversary for his children. He 



230 IReviews anO /llbiscellanies 

got up in an ill humor, grumbled and growled 
throughout the day, and not one of us went to 
bed that night without having had his jacket 
well trounced, to the tune of "The Pilgrim 
Fathers." 

You may judge, then, Mr. Editor, of the 
exultation of all true patriots of this stamp, 
when the Society of Saint Nicholas was set up 
among us, and intrepidly established, cheek 
by jole, alongside of the society of the invaders. 
Never shall I forget the effect upon my father 
and his little knot of brother groaners, when 
tidings were brought them that the ancient 
banner of the Manhattoes was actually floating 
from the window of the City Hotel. Sir, they 
nearly jumped out of their silver-buckled shoes 
for joy. They took down their cocked hats 
from the pegs on which they had hanged them, 
as the Israelites of yore hung their harps upon 
the willows, in token of bondage, clapped them 
resolutely once more upon their heads, and 
cocked them in the face of every Yankee they 
met on the way to the banqueting-room. 

The institution of this society was hailed 
with transport throughout the whole extent 
of the New Netherlands ; being considered a 
secret foothold gained in New Amsterdam, 
and a flattering presage of future triumph. 
Whenever that society holds its annual feast, 



Conspiracy of tbe Cocfceo f>ats 231 



a sympathetic hilarity prevails throughout 
the land ; ancient Pavonia sends over its 
contributions of cabbages and oysters ; the 
" House of the Four Chimneys " is splendidly 
illuminated, and the traditional song of Saint 
Nicholas, the mystic bond of union and con- 
spiracy, is chanted with closed doors, in every 
genuine Dutch family. 

I have thus, I trust, Mr. Editor, opened 
your eyes to some of the grand, moral, poeti- 
cal, and political phenomena with which you 
are surrounded. You will now be able to read 
the "signs of the times." You will now un- 
derstand what is meant by those " Knicker- 
bocker Halls," and "Knickerbocker Hotels," 
and " Knickerbocker Lunches," that are daily 
springing up in our city, and what all these 
"Knickerbocker Omnibuses" are driving at. 
You will see in them so many clouds before a 
storm ; so many mysterious but sublime inti- 
mations of the gathering vengeance of a 
great though oppressed people. Above all, 
you will now contemplate our bay and its 
portentous borders with proper feelings of awe 
and admiration. Talk of the Bay of Naples, 
and its volcanic mountain ! Why, sir, little 
Communipaw, sleeping among its cabbage- 
gardens, "quiet as gunpowder," yet with 
this tremendous conspiracy brewing in its 



232 IReviews and Miscellanies 

bosom, is an object ten times as sublime (in a 
moral point of view, mark me,) as Vesuvius in 
repose, though charged with lava and brim- 
stone, and ready for an eruption. 

Let me advert to a circumstance connected 
with this theme, which cannot but be appreciat- 
ed by every heart of sensibility. You must have 
remarked, Mr. Editor, on summer evenings, 
and on Sunday afternoons, certain grave, prim- 
itive-looking personages, walking the Battery, 
in close confabulation, with their canes behind 
their backs, and ever and anon turning a wist- 
ful gaze toward the Jersey shore. These, sir, 
are the sons of Saint Nicholas, the genuine 
Nederlanders ; who regard Communipaw with 
pious reverence, not merely as the progenitor, 
but the destined regenerator, of this great 
metropolis. Yes, sir ; they are looking with 
longing eyes to the green marshes of ancient 
Pavonia, as did the poor conquered Spaniards 
of yore toward the stern mountains of Asturias, 
wondering whether the day of deliverance is 
at hand. Many is the time, when, in m}' boy- 
hood, I have walked with my father and his 
confidential compeers on the Battery, and lis- 
tened to their calculations and conjectures, and 
observed the points of their sharp cocked hats 
ever more turned toward Pavonia. Nay, sir, I 
am convinced that at this moment, if I were 



Conspiracy of tbe Cocfceo 1bats 233 

to take down the cocked hat of my lamented 
father from the peg on which it has hung for 
years, and were to carry it to the Battery, its 
centre point, true as the needle to the pole, 
would turn to Communipaw. 

Mr. Editor, the great historic drama of New 
Amsterdam is but half acted. The reigns of 
Walter the Doubter, William the Testy, and 
Peter the Headstrong, with the rise, progress, 
and decline of the Dutch dynasty, are but so 
many parts of the main action, the triumphant 
catastrophe of which is yet to come. Yes, sir ! 
the deliverance of the New Nederlands from 
Yankee domination will eclipse the far-famed 
redemption of Spain from the Moors, and the 
oft-sung Conquest of Granada will fade before 
the chivalrous triumph of New Amsterdam. 
Would that Peter Stuyvesant could rise from 
his grave to witness that day ! 

Your humble servant, 

RoivOFF Van Ripper. 



P.S. — Just as I had concluded the foregoing 
epistle, I received a piece of intelligence which 
makes me tremble for the fate of Communipaw. 
I fear, Mr. Editor, the grand conspiracy is in 
danger of being countermined and counter- 
acted by those all-pervading and indefatigable 



234 IReviews anD flMscellanies 

Yankees. Would you think it, sir ! one of 
them has actually effected an entry in the place 
by covered way ; or, in other words, under 
cover of the petticoats. Finding every other 
mode ineffectual, he secretly laid siege to a 
Dutch heiress, who owns a great cabbage- 
garden in her own right. Being a smooth- 
tongued varlet, he easily prevailed on her to 
elope with him, and they were privately mar- 
ried at Spank-town ! The first notice the 
good people of Communipaw had of this awful 
event, was a lithographed map of the cabbage- 
garden laid out in town lots, and advertised 
for sale ! On the night of the wedding, the 
main weathercock of the ' ' House of the Four 
Chimneys ' ' was carried away in a whirlwind ! 
The greatest consternation reigns throughout 
the village ! 




Xetter trotn (Branafca. 

To the Editor of The Knickerbocker 



SIR, — The following letter was scribbled to 
a friend during my sojourn in the Al- 
hambra, in 1828. As it presents scenes 
and impressions noted down at the time, 
I venture to offer it for the consideration of 
your readers. Should it prove acceptable, I 
may from time to time give other letters, written 
in the course of my various ramblings, and 
which have been kindly restored to me by 
friends. 

Yours, 

G. C. 



Granada, 1828. 

My Dear : 

Religious festivals furnish, in all Catholic 

countries, occasions of popular pageant and 

recreation ; but in none more so than in Spain, 

where the great end of religion seems to be to 

235 



236 IRetuews anD dlMscellanies 

create holidays and ceremonials. For two days 
past, Granada has been in a gay turmoil with 
the great annual fete of Corpus Christi. This 
most eventful and romantic city, as you well 
know, has ever been the rallying-point of a 
mountainous region, studded with small towns 
and villages. Hither, during the time that 
Granada was the splendid capital of a Moorish 
kingdoms the Moslem youth repaired from all 
points to participate in chivalrous festivities ; 
and hither the Spanish populace, at the present 
day, throng from all parts of the surrounding 
country, to attend the festivals of the Church. 
As the populace like to enjoy things from the 
very commencement, the stir of Corpus Christi 
began in Granada on the preceding evening. 
Before dark, the gates of the city were thronged 
with the picturesque peasantry from the moun- 
tain villages, and the brown laborers from the 
Vega, or vast fertile plain. As the evening 
advanced, the Vivarrambla thickened and 
swarmed with a motley multitude. This is the 
great square in the centre of the city, famous 
for tilts and tourneys during the times of Moor- 
ish domination, and incessantly mentioned in 
all the old Moorish ballads of love and chivalry. 
For several days the hammer had resounded 
throughout this square. A gallery of wood 
had been erected all round it, forming a covered 



letter from $rana&fl 



way for the grand procession of Corpus Christi. 
On this eve of the ceremonial, this gallery was 
a fashionable promenade. It was brilliantly 
illuminated. bands of music were stationed in 
balconies on the four sides of the square, and 
all the fashion and beauty- of Granada, and all 
its population that could boast a little fiuery 
of apparel, togecher with the majos and ma 
the beaux and belles of the villages, in their gay 
Andalusian costumes, thronged this covered 
walk, anxious to see and to be seen. As to 
the sturdy peasantry of the Vega, and such of 
the mountaineers as did not pretend to display, 
but were content with hearty enjoyment, they 
swarmed in the centre of the square ; some in 
groups, listening to the guitar and the tradi- 
tional ballad ; some dancing their favorite 
bolero ; some seated on the ground, making 
a merry though frugal supper ; and some 
stretched out for their night's repose. 

The gay crowd of the gallery dispersed grad- 
ually toward midnight ; but the centre of the 
square resembled the bivouac of an army ; for 
hundreds of the peasantry — men ; women, and 
children — passed the night there, sleeping 
soundly on the bare earth, under the open can- 
opy of heaven. A summer's night requires no 
shelter in this genial climate ; and with a great 
part of the hardy peasantry of Spain, a bed is a 



238 TRevievvs and Miscellanies 

superfluity which many of them never enjoy, 
and which they affect to despise. The common 
Spaniard spreads out his manta, or mule-cloth, 
or wraps himself in his cloak, and lies on the 
ground, with his saddle for a pillow. 

The next morning I revisited the square at 
sunrise. It was still strewed with groups of 
sleepers ; some were reposing from the dance 
and revel of the evening ; others had left their 
villages after work, on the preceding day, and 
having trudged on foot the greater part of the 
night, were taking a sound sleep to freshen 
them for the festivities of the day. Numbers 
from the mountains, and the remote villages 
of the plain, who had set out in the night, con- 
tinued to arrive, with their wives and children. 
All were in high spirits ; greeting each other, 
and exchanging jokes and pleasantries. The 
gay tumult thickened as the day advanced. 
Now came pouring in at the city gates, and 
parading through the streets, deputations from 
the various villages, destined to swell the grand 
procession. These village deputations were 
headed by their priests, bearing their respective 
crosses and banners, and images of the blessed 
Virgin, and of patron saints ; all which were 
matters of great rivalship and jealousj^ among 
the peasantry. It was like the chivalrous gath- 
erings of ancient days, when each town and 



Xetter from (Branaoa 239 



village sent its chiefs, and warriors, and stand- 
ards, to defend the capital, or grace its fes- 
tivities. 

At length all these various detachments con- 
gregated into one grand pageant, which slowly 
paraded round the Vivarrambla, and through 
the principal streets, where every window and 
balcony was hung with tapestry. In this pro- 
cession were all the religious orders, the civil 
and military authorities, and the chief people 
of the paiishes and villages : every church and 
convent had contributed its banners, its images, 
its relics, and poured forth its wealth, for the 
occasion. In the centre of the procession 
walked the archbishop, under a damask can- 
opy, and surrounded by inferior dignitaries 
and their dependants. The whole moved to 
the swell and cadence of numerous bands of 
music, and, passing through the midst of a 
countless yet silent multitude, proceeded on- 
ward to the cathedral. 

I could not but be struck with the changes 
of times and customs, as I saw this monkish 
pageant passing through the Vivarrambla, the 
ancient seat of modern pomp and chivalry. 
The contrast was indeed forced upon the mind 
by the decorations of the square. The whole 
front of the wooden gallery erected for the pro- 
cession, extending several hundred feet, was 



240 IRepiews an& rtBiscellanfes 

faced with canvas, on which some humble 
though patriotic artist had painted, by con- 
tract, a series of the principal scenes and ex- 
ploits of the Conquest, as recorded in chronicle 
and romance. It is thus the romantic legends 
of Granada mingle themselves with every- 
thing, and are kept fresh in the public mind. 

Another great festival at Granada, answer- 
ing in its popular character to our Fourth of 
July, is El Dia de la Toma, " The Day of the 
Capture ' ' ; that is to say, the anniversary of 
the capture of the city by Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella. On this day all Granada is abandoned 
to revelry. The alarm-bell on the Terre de la 
Campana, or watch-tower of the Alhambra, 
keeps up a clangor from morn till night ; and 
happy is the damsel that can ring that bell ; it 
is a charm to secure a husband in the course 
of the year. 

The sound, which can be heard over the 
whole Vega, and to the top of the mountains, 
summons the peasantry to the festivities. 
Throughout the day the Alhambra is thrown 
open to the public. The halls and courts of 
the Moorish monarchs resound with the guitar 
and Castanet, and gay groups, in the fanciful 
dresses of Andalusia, perform those popular 
dances which they have inherited from the 
Moors. 



Xctter from (Sranada 241 



In the meantime a grand procession moves 
through the city. The banner of Ferdinand 
and Isabella, that precious relic of the Con- 
quest, is brought forth from its depository, and 
borne by the Alferez Mayor, or grand stand- 
ard-bearer, through the principal streets. The 
portable camp-altar, which was carried about 
with them in all their campaigns, is trans- 
ported into the chapel royal, and placed before 
their sepulchre, where their effigies lie in 
monumental marble. The procession fills the 
chapel. High mass is performed in memory 
of the Conquest ; and at a certain part of the 
ceremony the Alferez Mayor puts on his hat 
and waves the standard above the tomb of the 
conquerors. 

A more whimsical memorial of the Conquest 
is exhibited on the same evening at the the- 
atre, where a popular drama is performed, 
entitled " Ave Maria." This turns on the 
oft-sung achievement of Hernando del Pulgar, 
surnamed El de las Hazanas, ' ' He of the Ex- 
ploits/' the favorite hero of the populace of 
Granada. 

During the time that Ferdinand and Isabella 
besieged the city, the young Moorish and 
Spanish knights vied with each other in ex- 
travagant bravados. On one occasion Her- 
nando del Pulgar, at the head of a handful of 
16 



242 URcvxcwb and diMscellanfes 

youthful followers, made a dash into Granada 
at the dead of the night, nailed the inscription 
of Ave Maria, with his dagger, to the gate 
of the principal mosque, as a token of having 
consecrated it to the Virgin, and effected his 
retreat in safety. 

While the Moorish cavaliers admired this 
daring exploit, they felt bound to revenge it. 
On the following day, therefore, Tarfe, one of 
the stoutest of the infidel warriors, paraded in 
front of the Christian army, dragging the 
sacred inscription of Ave Maria at his horse's 
tail. The cause of the Virgin was eagerly 
vindicated by Garcilaso de la Vega, who slew 
the Moor in single combat, and elevated the 
inscription of Ave Maria, in devotion and 
triumph, at the end of his lance. 

The drama founded on this exploit is pro- 
digiously popular with the common people. 
Although it has been acted time out of mind, 
and the people have seen it repeatedly, it 
never fails to draw crowds, and so completely 
to engross the feelings of the audience, as to 
have almost the effect on them of reality. \ 
When their favorite Pulgar strides about with 
many a mouthy speech, in the very midst of 
the Moorish capital, he is cheered with enthu- 
siastic bravos ; and when he nails the tablet 
of Ave Maria to the door of the mosque, the 



ILetter from (Sranaoa 243 



theatre absolutely shakes with shouts and 
thunders of applause. On the other hand, the 
actors who play the part of the Moors have to 
bear the brunt of the temporary indignation 
of their auditors ; and when the infidel Tarfe 
plucks down the tablet to tie it to his horse's 
tail, many of the people absolutely rise in fury, 
and are ready to jump upon the stage to re- 
venge this insult to the Virgin. 

Beside this annual festival at the capital, al- 
most every village of the Vega and the moun- 
tains has its own anniversary, wherein its own 
deliverance from the Moorish yoke is celebrated 
with uncouth ceremony and rustic pomp. 

On these occasions, a kind of resurrection 
takes place of ancient Spanish dresses and 
armor, — great two-handed swords, ponderous 
arquebuses, with match-locks, and other weap- 
ons and accoutrements, once the equipments 
of the village chivalry, and treasured up from 
generation to generation since the time of the 
Conquest. In these hereditary and historical 
garbs, some of the most sturdy of the villagers 
array themselves as champions of the faith, 
while its ancient opponents are represented by 
another band of villagers, dressed up as Moor- 
ish warriors. A tent is pitched in the public 
square of the village, within which is an altar 
and an image of the Virgin. The Spanish 



244 *Ke\uews and flIMscellanies 

warriors approach to perform their devotions 
at this shrine, but are opposed by the infidel 
Moslems, who surround the tent. A mock fight 
succeeds, in the course of which the comba- 
tants sometimes forget that they are merely 
playing a part, and exchange dry blows of 
grievous weight ; the fictitious Moors, espe- 
cially, are apt to bear away pretty evident 
marks of the pious zeal of their antagonists. 
The contest, however, invariably terminates in 
favor of the good cause. The Moors are de- 
feated and taken prisoners. The image of the 
Virgin, rescued from thraldom, is elevated in 
triumph ; and a grand procession succeeds, in 
which the Spanish conquerors figure with great 
vainglory and applause, and their captives are 
led in chains, to the infinite delight and edifi- 
cation of the populace. These annual festivals 
are the delight of the villagers, who expend 
considerable sums in their celebration. In 
some villages they are occasionally obliged to 
suspend them for want of funds ; but when 
times grow better, or they have been enabled 
to save money for the purpose, they are revived 
with all their grotesque pomp and extravagance. 
To recur to the exploit of Hernando del 
Pulgar. However extravagant and fabulous 
it may seem, it is authenticated by certain 
traditional usages, and shows the vainglorious 



Xetter front (Branaoa 245 



daring that prevailed between the youthful 
warriors of both nations, in that romantic war. 
The mosque thus consecrated to the Virgin 
was made the cathedral of the city after the 
Conquest ; and there is a painting of the 
Virgin beside the royal chapel, which was put 
there by Hernando del Pulgar. The lineal 
representative of the hare-brained cavalier has 
the right, to this day, to enter the church on 
certain occasions, on horseback, to sit within 
the choir, and to put on his hat at the elevation 
of the host, though these privileges have often 
been obstinately contested by the clergy. 

The present lineal representative of Her- 
nando del Pulgar is the Marquis de Salar, 
whom I have met occasionally in society. He 
is a young man of agreeable appearance and 
manners, and his bright black eyes would give 
indication of his inheriting the fire of his 
ancestor. When the paintings were put up in 
the Vivarrambla, illustrating the scenes of the 
Conquest, an old gray-headed family servant 
of the Pulgars was so delighted with those 
which related to the family hero, that he ab- 
solutely shed tears, and hurrying home to the 
Marquis, urged him to hasten and behold the 
family trophies. The sudden zeal of the old 
man provoked the mirth of his young master ; 
upon which, turning to the brother of the 



246 iReviews and Miscellanies 

Marquis, with that freedom allowed to family 
servants in Spain, " Come, Senor," cried he ; 
' ' you are more grave and considerate than 
your brother ; come and see your ancestor in 
all his glory ! ' ' 

Within two or three years after the above 
letter was written, the Marquis de Salar was 
married to the beautiful daughter of the Count 

, mentioned by the author in his anecdotes 

of the Alhambra. The match was very agree- 
able to all parties, and the nuptials were cele- 
brated with great festivity. 




Ube Catsfeill /IDountains, 

THE Catskill, Katskill, or Cat River 
Mountains derived their name, in the 
time of the Dutch domination, from the 
catamounts by which they were in- 
fested ; and which, with the bear, the wolf, 
and the deer, are still to be found in some of 
their most difficult recesses. The interior of 
these mountains is in the highest degree wild 
and romantic. Here are rocky precipices man- 
tled with primeval forests ; deep gorges walled 
in by beetling cliffs, with torrents tumbling 
as it were from the sky ; and savage glens 
rarely trodden excepting by the hunter. With 
all this internal rudeness, the aspect of these 
mountains towards the Hudson at times is 
eminently bland and beautiful, sloping down 
into a country softened by cultivation, and 
bearing much of the rich character of Italian 
scenery about the skirts of the Apennines. 

The Catskjlls form an advance post or lat- 
eral spur of the great Alleghanian or Appa- 
247 



24§ IRevicwe anfc ittMsceUanies 

lachian system of mountains which sweeps 
through the interior of our continent, from 
southwest to northeast, from Alabama to the 
extremity of Maine, for nearly fourteen hun- 
dred miles, beating the whole of our original 
confederacy, and rivalling our great system of 
lakes in extent and grandeur. Its vast ramifi- 
cations comprise a number of parallel chains 
and lateral groups ; such as the Cumberland 
Mountains, the Blue Ridge, the Alleghanies, 
the Delaware and Lehigh, the Highlands 
of the Hudson, the Green Mountains of Ver- 
mont, and the White Mountains of New 
Hampshire. In manj r of these vast ranges or 
sierras, Nature still reigns in indomitable wild- 
ness ; their rocky ridges, their rugged clefts 
and defiles, teem with magnificent vegetation. 
Here are locked up mighty forests that have 
never been invaded by the axe ; deep um- 
brageous valleys where the virgin soil has 
never been outraged by the plough ; bright 
streams flowing in untasked idleness, unbur- 
dened by commerce, unchecked b} 7 the mill- 
dam. This mountain zone is in fact the great 
poetical region of our country ; resisting, like 
the tribes which once inhabited it, the taming 
hand of cultivation ; and maintaining a hal- 
lowed ground for fancy and the Muses. It is 
a magnificent and all-pervading feature, that 



Gbe Catsfcill Mountains 249 

might nave given our country a name, and a 
poetical one, had not the all-controlling powers 
of commonplace determined otherwise. 

The Catskill Mountains, as I have observed, 
maintain all the internal wildness of the laby- 
rinth of mountains with which they are con- 
nected. Their detached position, overlooking 
a wide lowland region, with the majestic Hud- 
son rolling through it, has given them a dis- 
tinct character, and rendered them at all times 
a rallying-point for romance and fable. Much 
of the fanciful associations with which they 
have been clothed may be owing to their be- 
ing peculiarly subject to those beautiful atmos- 
pherical effects which constitute one of the 
great charms of Hudson River scenery. To 
me they have ever been the fairy region of the 
Hudson. I speak, however, from early im- 
pressions, made in the happy da}^s of boyhood, 
when all the world had a tinge of fairy-land. 
I shall never forget my first view of these 
mountains. It was in the course of a voyage 
up the Hudson, in the good old times before 
steamboats and railroads had driven all poetry 
and romance out of travel. A voyage up the 
Hudson in those days was equal to a voyage 
to Europe at present, and cost almost as much 
time ; but we enjoyed the river then ; we rel- 
ished it as we did our wine, sip by sip, not as 



250 IRepiews anfc /HMscellanies 

at present, gulping all down at a draught, 
without tasting it. My whole voyage up the 
Hudson was full of wonder and romance. I 
was a lively boy, somewhat imaginative, of 
easy faith, and prone to relish everything that 
partook of the marvellous. Among the pas- 
sengers on board of the sloop was a veteran 
Indian trader, on his way to the lakes to traffic 
with the natives. He had discovered my pro- 
pensity, and amused himself throughout the 
voyage by telling me Indian legends and 
grotesque stories about every noted place on 
the River, — such as Spuyten Devil Creek, the 
Tappan Sea, the Devil's Dans Kammer, and 
other hobgoblin places. The Catskill Moun- 
tains especially called forth a host of fanciful 
traditions. We were all day slowly tiding 
along in sight of them, so that he had full 
time to weave his whimsical narratives. In 
these mountains, he told me, according to 
Indian belief, was kept the great treasury of 
storm and sunshine for the region of the Hud- 
son. An old squaw spirit had charge of it, 
who dwelt on the highest peak of the moun- 
tain. Here she kept Day and Night shut up 
in her wigwam, letting out only one of them 
at a time. She made new moons every month, 
and hung them up in the sky, cutting up the 
old ones into stars. The great Manitou, or 



Gbe CatsKtll /fountains 251 

master-spirit, employed her to manufacture 
clouds ; sometimes she wove them out of cob- 
webs, gossamers, and morning dew, and sent 
them off flake after flake, to float in the air 
and give light summer showers. Sometimes 
she would brew up black thunder-storms, and 
send down drenching rains to swell the streams 
and sweep everything away. He had many 
stories, also, about mischievous spirits who in- 
fested the mountains in the shape of animals, 
and played all kinds of pranks upon Indian 
hunters, decoying them into quagmires and 
morasses, or to the brinks of torrents and 
precipices. All these were doled out to me as 
I lay on the deck throughout a long summer's 
day, gazing upon these mountains, the ever- 
changing shapes and hues of which appeared 
to realize the magical influences in question. 
Sometimes they seemed to approach ; at other 
to recede ; during the heat of the day they 
almost melted into a sultry haze ; as the day 
declined they deepened in tone ; their summits 
were brightened by the last rays of the sun, 
and later in the evening their whole outline 
was printed in deep purple against an amber 
sky. As I beheld them thus shifting con- 
tinually before rny eye, and listened to the 
marvellous legends of the trader, a host of 
fanciful notions concerning them was con- 



252 IReviews and Miscellanies 

jured into my brain, which have haunted it 
ever since. 

As to the Indian superstitions concerning 
the treasury of storms and sunshine, and the 
cloud- weaving spirits, they may have been 
suggested by the atmospherical phenomena of 
these mountains, the clouds which gather 
round their summits, and the thousand aerial 
effects which indicate the changes of weather 
over a great extent of country. They are epit- 
omes of our variable climate, and are stamped 
with all its vicissitudes. And here let me say 
a word in favor of those vicissitudes which are 
too often made the subject of exclusive repin- 
ing. If they annoy us occasionally by changes 
from hot to cold, from wet to dr} r , they give us 
one of the most beautiful climates in the world. 
They give us the brilliant sunshine of the 
south of Europe, with the fresh verdure of the 
north. The}' float our summer sky with clouds 
of gorgeous tints or fleecy whiteness, and send 
down cooling showers to refresh the panting 
earth and keep it green. Our seasons are all 
poetical ; the phenomena of our heavens are 
full of sublimity and beauty. Winter with us 
has none of its proverbial gloom. It may have 
its howling winds, and thrilling frosts, and 
whirling snow-storms ; but it has also its long 
intervals of cloudless sunshine, when the snow- 



Hbe Catsfcill Aountaind 253 

clad earth gives redoubled brightness to the 
day ; when at night the stars beam with in- 
tensest lustre, or the moon floods the whole 
landscape with her most limpid radiance ; — 
and then the joyous outbreak of our spring, 
bursting at once into leaf and blossom, redun- 
dant with vegetation and vociferous with life ! 
And the splendors of our summer, — its morn- 
ing voluptuousness and evening glory ; its airy 
palaces of sun-gilt clouds piled up in a deep 
azure sky, and its gusts of tempest of almost 
tropical grandeur, when the forked lightning 
and the bellowing thunder volley from the bat- 
tlements of heaven and shake the sultry atmos- 
phere, — and the sublime melancholy of our 
autumn, magnificent in its decay, withering 
down the pomp and pride of a woodland coun- 
try, yet reflecting back from its yellow forests 
the golden serenity of the sky ! — Surely we may 
sa3' that in our climate, ' ' The heavens declare 
the glory of God, and the firmament showeth 
forth his handiwork : day unto day uttereth 
speech ; and night unto night showeth knowl- 
edge." 

A word more concerning the Catskills. It 
is not the Indians only to whom they have 
been a kind of wonderland. In the early times 
of the Dutch dynasty we find them themes of 
golden speculation among even the sages of 



254 TRevnewB anD Miscellanies 

New Amsterdam. During the administration 
of Wilhelmus Kieft there was a meeting be- 
tween the Director of the New Netherlands and 
the chiefs of the Mohawk nation to conclude a 
treaty of peace. On this occasion the Director 
was accompanied by Mynheer Adrian Van der 
Donk, Doctor of Laws, and subsequently histo- 
rian of the colony. The Indian chiefs, as usual, 
painted and decorated themselves on the cere- 
mony. One of them in so doing made use of 
a pigment, the weight and shining appearance 
of which attracted the notice of Kieft and his 
learned companion, who suspected it to be ore. 
They procured a lump of it, and took it back 
with them to New Amsterdam. Here it was 
submitted to the inspection of Johannes de la 
Montagne, an eminent Huguenot doctor of 
medicine, one of the counsellors of the New 
Netherlands. The supposed ore was forthwith 
put in a crucible and assayed, and to the great 
exultation of the junto yielded two pieces of 
gold, worth about three guilders. This golden 
discovery was kept a profound secret. As soon 
as the treaty of peace was adjusted with the 
Mohawks, William Kieft sent a trusty officer 
and a party of men, under guidance of an In- 
dian, who undertook to conduct them to the 
place whence the ore had been found. We have 
no account of this gold-hunting expedition, nor 



Gbe Catskill /Ifcountains 255 

of its whereabouts, excepting that it was some- 
where on the Catskill Mountains. The explor- 
ing party brought back a bucketful of ore. 
Like the former specimen, it was submitted to 
the crucible of De la Montagne, and was equally 
productive of gold. All this we have on the 
authority of Doctor Van der Donk, who w T as 
an eye-witness of the process and its result, and 
records the whole in his Description of the 
New Netherlands. 

William Kieft now despatched a confidential 
agent, one Arent Corsen, to convey a sackful 
of the precious ore to Holland. Corsen em- 
barked at New Haven in a British vessel bound 
to England, whence he was to cross to Rotter- 
dam. The ship set sail about Christmas, but 
never reached her port. All on board perished. 

In 1647, when the redoubtable Petrus Stuyve- 
sant took command of the New Netherlands, 
William Kieft embarked on his return to Hol- 
land, provided with further specimens of the 
Catskill Mountain ore, from which he doubt- 
less indulged golden anticipations. A similar 
fate attended him with that which had befallen 
his agent. The ship in which he had embarked 
was cast away, and he and his treasure wer£ 
swallowed in the waves. 

Here closes the golden legend of the Catskills ; 
but another one of similar import succeeds. In 



256 IRetuews and Miscellanies 

1649, about two years after the shipwreck of 
Wilhelmus Kieft, there was again a rumor of 
precious metals in these mountains. Mynheer 
Brant Arent Van Slechtenhorst, agent of the 
Patroon of Rensselaerswyck, had purchased in 
behalf of the Patroon a tract of the Catskill 
lands, and leased it out in farms. A Dutch 
lass in the household of one of the farmers found 
one day a glittering substance, which, on being 
examined, was pronounced silver ore. , Brant 
Van Slechtenhorst forthwith sent his son from 
Rensselaerswyck to explore the mountains in 
quest of the supposed mines. The young man 
put up in the farmer's house, which had recently 
been erected on the margin of a mountain 
stream. Scarcely was he housed when a furi- 
ous storm burst forth on the mountains. The 
thunders rolled, the lightnings flashed, the 
rain came down in cataracts ; the stream was 
suddenly swollen to a furious torrent thirty feet 
deep ; the farmhouse and all its contents were 
swept away, and it was only by dint of excel- 
lent swimming that young Slechtenhorst saved 
his own life and the lives of his horses. Shortly 
after this a feud broke out between Peter Stuy- 
Vesant and the Patroon of Rensselaerswyck on 
account of the right and title to the Catskill 
Mountains, in the course of which the elder 
Slechtenhorst was taken captive by the Poten- 



j Gbe Catakill /iftountafne 257 

tate of the New Netherlands and thrown in 
prison at New Amsterdam. 

We have met with no record of any further 
attempt to get at the treasures of the Catskills. 
Adventurers may have been discouraged by the 
ill-luck which appeared to attend all who med- 
dled with them, as if they were under the guar- 
dian keep of the same spirits or goblins who 
once haunted the mountains and ruled over the 
weather. That gold and silver ore was actu- 
ally procured from these mountains in days of 
yore, we have historical evidence to prove, and 
the recorded word of Adrian Van der Donk, a 
man of weight, who was an eye-witness. If 
gold and silver were once to be found there, 
they must be there at present. It remains to 
be seen, in these gold-hunting days, whether 
the quest will be renewed, and some daring 
adventurer, fired with a true Californian spirit, 
will penetrate the mysteries of these mountains, 
and open a golden region on the borders of the 

Hudson. 
17 




Stories anb Xegenbs 

HERETOFORE INCLUDED IN THE VOLUME ENTITLED 
" WOLFERT'S ROOST." 



259 



STORIES AND LEGENDS. 



Ube Earl£ Bjpertences of IRalpb 
1Ringwoofc>. 

Noted down from his Conversations : by Geoffrey 
Crayon, Gent.* 

" ¥ AM a Kentuckian by residence and choice, 

l but a Virginian by birth. The cause of my 

1 first leaving the 'Ancient Dominion, ' and 

emigrating to Kentucky, was a jackass ! 

You stare, but have a little patience, and I '11 

soon show 3'ou how it came to pass. My father, 

who was of one of the old Virginian families, 

* Ralph Ringwood, though a fictitious name, is a 
real personage, — the late Governor Duval of Florida. 
I have given some anecdotes of his early and eccentric 
career, in, as nearly as I can recollect, the very words 
in which he related them. They certainly afford strong 
temptations to the embellishments of fiction ; but I 
thought them so strikingly characteristic of the individ- 
ual and of the scenes and society into which his pecu- 
liar humors carried him, that I preferred giving them 
in their original simplicity. 
261 



262 Stories ano Uegenos 



resided in Richmond. He was a widower, and 
his domestic affairs were managed by a house- 
keeper of the old school, such as used to admin- 
ister the concerns of opulent Virginian house- 
holds. She was a dignitary that almost rivalled 
my father in importance, and seemed to think 
everything belonged to her ; in fact, she w T as so 
considerate in her economy, and so careful of ex- 
pense, as sometimes to vex my father, who would 
swear she was disgracing him by her meanness. 
She always appeared with that ancient insig- 
nia of housekeeping trust and authority, a 
great bunch of keys jingling at her girdle. She 
superintended the arrangements of the table 
at every meal, and saw that the dishes were all 
placed according to her primitive notions of 
symmetry. In the evening she took her stand 
and served out tea with a mingled respectful- 
ness and pride of station truly exemplary. Her 
great ambition was to have everything in order, 
and that the establishment under her sway 
should be cited as a model of good housekeep- 
ing. If anything went wrong, poor old Bar- 
bara would take it to heart, and sit in her room 
and cry, until a few chapters in the Bible would 
quiet her spirits, and make all calm again. 
The Bible, in fact, was her constant resort in 
time of trouble. She opened it indiscrimi- 
nately, and whether she chanced among the 



IRalpb IRingwoofc 263 



Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Canticles of 
Solomon, or the rough enumeration of the 
tribes in Deuteronomy, a chapter was a chap- 
ter, and operated like balm to her soul. Such 
was our good old housekeeper Barbara ; who 
was destined, unwittingly, to have a most im- 
portant effect upon my destiny. 

11 It came to pass, during the days of my 
juvenility, while I was yet what is termed ' an 
unlucky boy,' that a gentleman of our neigh- 
borhood, a great advocate for experiments and 
improvements of all kinds, took it into his head 
that it would be an immense public advantage 
to introduce a breed of mules, and accordingly 
imported three jacks to stock the neighborhood. 
This in a part of the country where the people 
cared for nothing but blood horses ! Why, 
sir, they would have considered their mares 
disgraced, and their whole stud dishonored, 
by such a misalliance. The whole matter 
was a town-talk, and a town scandal. The 
worthy amalgamator of quadrupeds found 
himself in a dismal scrape ; so he backed out 
in time, abjured the whole doctrine of amal- 
gamation, and turned his jacks loose to shift 
for themselves upon the town common. There 
they used to run about and lead an idle, good- 
for-nothing, holiday life, the happiest animals 
in the country. 



264 Stories ano Xegenos 



" It so happened that my way to school lay 
across the common. The first time that I saw 
one of these animals, it set up a braying and 
frightened me confoundedly. However, I soon 
got over my fright, and seeing that it had 
something of a horse" look, my Virginian love 
for anything of the equestrian species predom- 
inated, and I determined to back it. I accord- 
ingly applied at a grocer's shop, procured a 
cord that had been round a loaf of sugar, and 
made a kind of halter; then, summoning some 
of my school- fellows, we drove master Jack 
about the common until we hemmed him in in 
an angle of a ' worm-fence. ' After some diffi- 
culty we fixed the halter round his muzzle, and 
I mounted. Up flew his heels, away I went 
over his head, and off he scampered. However, 
I was on my legs in a twinkling, gave chase, 
caught him, and remounted. By dint of re- 
peated tumbles I soon learned to stick to his 
back, so that he could no more cast me than 
he could his own skin. From that time, mas- 
ter Jack and his companions had a scam- 
pering life of it, for we all rode them between 
school-hours, and on holiday afternoons ; and 
you may be sure school-boys' nags are never 
permitted to suffer the grass to grow under 
their feet. They soon became so knowing, 
that they took to their heels at sight of a school- 



IRalpb tRingwooD 265 



boy ; and we were generally much longer in 
chasing than we were in riding them. 

"Sunday approached, on which I projected 
an equestrian excursion on one of these long- 
eared steeds. As I knew the jacks would be 
in great denjand on Sunday morning, I secured 
one over night, and conducted him home, to 
be ready for an early outset. But where was I 
to quarter him for the night ? I could not put 
him in the stable ; our old black groom George 
was as absolute in that domain as Barbara was 
within doors, and would have thought his 
stable, his horses, and himself disgraced by 
the introduction of a jackass. I recollected the 
smoke-house, — an outbuilding appended to all 
Virginian establishments, for the smoking of 
hams and other kinds of meat. So I got the 
key, put master Jack in, locked the door, re- 
turned the key to its place, and went to bed, 
intending to release my prisoner at an early 
hour, before any of the family were awake. 
I was so tired, however, by the exertions I 
had made in catching the donkey, that I fell 
into a sound sleep, and the morning broke 
without my waking. 

1 ' Not so with dame Barbara, the housekeeper. 
As usual, to use her own phrase, ' she was up 
before the crow put his shoes on,' and bustled 
about to get things in order for breakfast. 



266 Stories ano Xesenos 



Her first resort was to the smoke-house. Scarce 
had she opened the door, when master Jack, 
tired of his confinement, and glad to be released 
from darkness, gave a loud bray, and rushed 
forth. Down dropped old Barbara ; the ani- 
mal trampled over her, and made off for the 
common. Poor Barbara ! She had never be- 
fore seen a donkey ; and having read in the 
Bible that the Devil went about like a roaring 
lion, seeking whom he might devour, she took 
it for granted that this was Beelzebub himself. 
The kitchen was soon in a hubbub ; the servants 
hurried to the spot. There lay old Barbara in 
fits ; as fast as she got out of one, the thoughts 
of the Devil came over her, and she fell into 
another, for the good soul was devoutly super- 
stitious. 

1 ' As ill luck would have it, among those 
attracted by the noise, was a little, cursed, fid- 
gety, crabbed uncle of mine ; one of those 
uneasy spirits that cannot rest quietly in their 
beds in the morning, but must be up early, to 
bother the household. He was only a kind 
of half-uncle, after all, for he had married my 
father's sister ; yet he assumed great authority 
on the strength of this left-handed relationship, 
and was a universal intermeddler and family 
pest. This prying little busybody soon ferreted 
out the truth of the story, and discovered, by 



IRalpb IRingwoofc 267 



hook and by crook, that I was at the bottom 
of the affair, and had locked up the donkey in 
the smoke-house. He stopped to inquire no 
farther, for he was one of those testy curmud- 
geons with whom unlucky boys are always in 
the wrong. Leaving old Barbara to wrestle in 
imagination with the Devil, he made for my 
bedchamber, where I still lay wrapped in rosy 
slumbers, little dreaming of the mischief I 
had done, and the storm about to break over 
me. 

" In an instant I was awakened by a shower 
of thwacks, and started up in wild amazement. 
I demanded the meaning of this attack, but 
received no other reply than that I had mur- 
dered the housekeeper ; while my uncle con- 
tinued whacking away during my confusion. 
I seized a poker, and put myself on the de- 
fensive. I was a stout boy for my years, while 
my uncle was a little wiffet of a man ; one that 
in Kentucky we would not call even an ' indi- 
vidual ' ; nothing more than a ' remote cir- 
cumstance.' I soon, therefore, brought him to 
a parley, and learned the whole extent of the 
charge brought against me. I confessed to 
the donkey and the smoke-house, but pleaded 
not guilty of the murder of the housekeeper. 
I soon found out that old Barbara was still 
alive. She continued under the doctor's 



268 Stories ano Xegenos 



hands, however, for several days ; and when- 
ever she had an ill turn, my uncle would seek 
to give me another flogging. I appealed to 
my father, but got no redress. I was consid- 
ered an ' unlucky boy, ' prone to all kinds of 
mischief; so that prepossessions were against 
me, in all cases of appeal. 

1 ■ I felt stung to the soul at all this. I had 
been beaten, degraded, and treated with slight- 
ing when I complained. I lost my usual good 
spirits and good-humor ; and, being out of 
temper with everybody, fancied everybody out 
of temper with me. A certain wild, roving 
spirit of freedom, which I believe is as inherent 
in me as it is in the partridge, was brought into 
sudden activity by the checks and restraints 
I suffered. ' I '11 go from heme,' thought I, 
' and shift for myself.' Perhaps this notion 
was quickened by the rage for emigrating to 
Kentucky which was at that time prevalent 
in Virginia. I had heard such stories of the 
romantic beauties of the country, of the abun- 
dance of game of all kinds, and of the glorious 
independent life of the hunters who ranged its 
noble forests, and lived by the rifle, that I was 
as much agog to get there as boys who live in 
seaports are to launch themselves among the 
wonders and adventures of the ocean. 

" After a time, old Barbara got better in 



"Ralpb TRingwoofc 269 



mind and body, and matters were explained to 
her ; and she became gradually convinced that 
it was not the Devil she had encountered. 
When she heard how harshly I had been 
treated on her account, the good old soul was 
extremely grieved, and spoke warmly to my 
father in my behalf. He had himself remarked 
the change in my behavior, and thought pun- 
ishment might have been carried too far. He 
sought, therefore, to have some conversation 
with me : and to soothe my feelings ; but it 
was too late. I frankly told him the course of 
mortification that I had experienced, and the 
fixed determination I had made to go from 
home. 

1 ' ' And where do you mean to go ? ' 

"'To Kentucky.' 

" ' To Kentucky ! Why, you know nobody 
there/ 

' ' k No matter ; I can soon make acquaint- 
ances. ' 

11 'And what will you do when you get 
there ? ' 

"'Hunt!' 

' ' My father gave a long, low whistle, and 
looked in my face with a serio-comic expres- 
sion. I was not far in my teens, and to talk of 
setting off alone for Kentucky, to turn hunter, 
seemed doubtless the idle prattle of a boy. 



270 Stories ano Hegenos 



He was little aware of the dogged resolution of 
my character ; and his smile of incredulity but 
fixed me more obstinately in my purpose. I 
assured him I was serious in what I said, and 
would certainly set off for Kentucky in the 
spring. 

" Month after month passed away. My 
father now and then adverted slightly to what 
had passed between us ; doubtless for the pur- 
pose of sounding me. I always expressed the 
same grave and fixed determination. By de- 
grees he spoke to me more directly on the 
subject, endeavoring earnestly but kindly to 
dissuade me. My only reply was, ' I had 
made up my mind.' 

" Accordingly, as soon as the spring had 
fairly opened, I sought him one day in his 
study, and informed him I was about to set 
out for Kentucky, and had come to take my 
leave. He made no objection, for he had ex- 
hausted persuasion and remonstrance, and 
doubtless thought it best to give way to my 
humor, trusting that a little rough experience 
would soon bring me home again. I asked 
money for my journey. He went to a chest, 
took out a long green silk purse, well filled, and 
laid it on the table. I now asked for a horse 
and servant. 

A horse ! ' said my father, sneeringly, 



t< < 



TRalpb IRingwooD 271 



' why, you would not go a mile without racing 
him, and breaking your neck ; and as to a 
servant, you cannot take care of yourself, 
much less of him.' 

" ' How am I to travel, then ? ' 

" ' Why, I suppose you are man enough to 
travel on foot.' 

"' He spoke jestingly, little thinking I 
would take him at his word ; but I was 
thoroughly piqued in respect to my enterprise ; 
so I pocketed the purse, went to my room, 
tied up three or four shirts in a pocket-hand- 
kerchief, put a dirk in my bosom, girt a couple 
of pistols round my waist, and felt like a 
knight-errant armed cap-a-pie, and ready to 
rove the world in quest of adventures. 

1 ' My sister (I had but one) hung round 
me and wept, and entreated me to stay. I 
felt my heart swell in my throat ; but I gulped 
it back to its place, and straightened myself 
up : I would not suffer myself to cry. I at 
length disengaged myself from her, and got to 
the door. 

1 ' ' When will you come back ? ' cried she. 

"'Never, by heavens!' cried I, 'until I 
come back a member of Congress from Ken- 
tucky. I am determined to show that I am 
not the tail-end of the family, ' 

4 ' Such was my first outset from home. You 



272 Stories ano Xe^enos 



may suppose what a greenhorn I was, and how 
little I knew of the world I was launching 
into. 

" I do not recollect any incident of impor- 
tance, until I reached the borders of Pennsyl- 
vania. I had stopped at an inn to get some 
refreshment ; as I was eating in a back room, 
I overheard two men in the bar-room con- 
jecture who and what I could be. One de- 
termined, at length, that I was a runaway 
apprentice, and ought to be stopped, to which 
the other assented. When I had finished my 
meal, and paid for it, I went out at. the back 
door, lest I should be stopped by my super- 
visors. Scorning, however, to steal off like 
a culprit, I walked round to the front of the 
house. One of the men advanced to the front 
door. He wore his hat on one side, and had 
a consequential air that nettled me. 

1 ' ' Where are you going, youngster ? ' de- 
manded he. 

" 'That's none of your business ! ' replied 
I, rather pertly. 

1 ' ' Yes, but it is though ! You have run 
away from home, and must give an account 
of yourself.' 

"He advanced to seize me, when I drew 
forth a pistol. ' If you advance another step, 
I '11 shoot you ! ' 



TRalpb TRingwooD 273 



" He sprang back as if he had trodden upon 
a rattle-snake, and his hat fell off in the move- 
ment. 

' ' * Let him alone ! ' cried his companion ; 
'he's a foolish mad-headed boy, and don't 
know what he 's about. He '11 shoot you, 
you may rely on it.' 

" He did not need any caution in the mat- 
ter ; he was afraid even to pick up his hat ; 
so I pushed forward on my way without moles- 
tation. This incident, however, had its effect 
upon me. I became fearful of sleeping in any 
house at night, lest I should be stopped. I 
took my meals in the houses, in the course 
of the day, but would turn aside at night into 
some wood or ravine, make a fire and sleep 
before it. This I considered was true hunter's 
style, and I wished to inure myself to it. 

"At length I arrived at Brownsville, leg- 
weary and w r ayworn, and in a shabby plight, 
as you may suppose, having been ' camping 
out ' for some nights past. I applied at some 
of the inferior inns, but could gain no admis- 
sion. I was regarded for a moment with a 
dubious eye, and then informed they did not 
receive foot-passengers. At last I went boldly 
to the principal inn. The landlord appeared 
as unwilling as the rest to receive a vagrant 
boy beneath his roof; but his wife interfered 



274 Stories ano Xegenos 



in the midst of his excuses, and, half elbow- 
ing him aside, — 

"'Where are you going, my lad?' said 
she. 

"'To Kentucky.' 

" ' What are you going there for ? s 

"'To hunt.' 

" She looked earnestly at me for a moment 
or two. ' Have you a mother living ? ' said 
she at length. 

' ' ' No, madam ; she has been dead for some 
time. ' 

" ' I thought so ! ' cried she, warmly. 'I 
knew if you had a mother living, you would 
not be here.' From that moment the good 
woman treated me with a mother's kindness. 

" I remained several days beneath her roof, 
recovering from the fatigue of my journey. 
While here, I purchased a rifle, and practised 
daily at a mark, to prepare myself for a hunt- 
er's life. When sufficiently recruited in 
strength I took leave of my kind host and 
hostess, and resumed my journey. 

" At Wheeling I embarked in a flat-bottomed 
family boat, technically called a broad-horn, 
a prime river conveyance in those days. In 
this ark for two weeks I floated down the 
Ohio. The river was as yet in all its wild 
beauty. Its loftiest trees had not been thin- 



"Ralpb RfngwooB 275 



ned out. The forest overhung the water's 
edge, and was occasionally skirted by im- 
mense canebrakes. Wild animals of all kinds 
abounded. We heard them rushing through 
the thickets and plashing in the water. Deer 
and bears would frequently swim across the 
river ; others would come down to the bank, 
and gaze at the boat as it passed. I was inces- 
santly on the alert with my rifle ; but, some- 
how or other, the game was never within shot. 
Sometimes I got a chance to land and try my 
skill on shore. I shot squirrels, and small 
birds, and even wild turkeys ; but though I 
caught glimpses of deer bounding away 
through the woods, I never could get a fair 
shot at them. 

1 ' In this way we glided in our broad-horn 
past Cincinnati, the 'Queen of the West,' as 
she is now called, then a mere group of log- 
cabins ; and the site of the bustling city of 
Louisville, then designated by a solitary 
house. As I said before, the Ohio was as yet 
a wild river ; all was forest, forest, forest ! 
Near the confluence of Green River with the 
Ohio I landed, bade adieu to the broad-horn, 
and struck for the interior of Kentucky. I 
had no precise plan ; my only idea was to 
make for one of the wildest parts of the 
country. I had relatives in Lexington and 



276 Stories ano Xegenog 



other settled places, to whom I thought it 
probable my father would write concerning 
me ; so, as I was full of manhood and inde- 
pendence, and resolutely bent on making my 
way in the world without assistance or con- 
trol, I resolved to keep clear of them all. 

" In the course of my first day's trudge I 
shot a wild turkey, and slung it on my back 
for provisions. The forest was open and clear 
from underwood. I saw deer in abundance, 
but always running, running. It seemed to 
me as if these animals never stood still. 

" At length I came to where a gang of half- 
starved wolves were feasting on the carcass of 
a deer which they had run down, and snarl- 
ing and snapping, and fighting like so many 
dogs. They were all so ravenous and intent 
upon their prey that they did not notice me, 
and I had time to make my observations. 
One, larger and fiercer than the rest, seemed 
to claim the larger share, and to keep the 
others in awe. If any one came too near him 
while eating; he would fly off, seize and shake 
him, and then return to his repast. ' This, ' 
thought I, ' must be the captain ; if I can 
kill him, I shall defeat the whole army.' I 
accordingly took aim, fired, and down dropped 
the old fellow. He might be only shamming 
lead ; so I loaded and put a second ball 



IRalpb IRtngvvoofc 277 



through him. He never budged ; ail the rest 
ran off, and my victory was complete. 

11 It would not be easy to describe my tri- 
umphant feelings on this great achievement. 
I marched on with renovated spirit, regarding 
myself as absolute lord of the forest. As night 
drew near, I prepared for camping. My first 
care was to collect dry wood, and make a 
roaring fire to cook and sleep by, and to frighten 
off wolves, and bears, and panthers. I then 
began to pluck my turkey for supper. I had 
camped out several times in the early part of 
my expedition ; but that was in comparatively 
more settled and civilized regions, where there 
were no wild animals of consequence in the 
forest. This was my first camping out in the 
real wilderness, and I was soon made sensible 
of the loneliness and wildness of my situation. 

"In a little while a concert of wolves com- 
menced ; there might have been a dozen or 
two, but it seemed to me as if there were 
thousands. I never heard such howling and 
whining. Having prepared my turkey, I di- 
vided it into two parts, thrust two sticks into 
one of the halves, and planted them on end 
before the fire, — the hunter's mode of roasting. 
The smell of roast meat quickened the appe- 
tites of the wolves, and their concert became 
truly infernal. They seemed to be all around 



273 Stories ano Heretics 



me, but I could only now and then get a 
glimpse of one of them, as he came within the 
glare of the light. 

" I did not much care for the wolves, who 
I knew to be a cowardly race, but I had heard 
terrible stories of panthers, and began to fear 
their stealthy prowlings in the surrounding 
darkness. I was thirsty, and heard a brook 
bubbling and tinkling along at no great dis- 
tance, but absolutely dared not go there, lest 
some panther might lie in wait and spring 
upon me. By-and-by a deer whistled. I had 
never heard one before, and thought it must 
be a panther. I now felt uneasy lest he might 
climb the trees, crawl along the branches over- 
head, and plump down upon me ; so I kept 
my eyes fixed on the branches, until my head 
ached. I more than once thought I saw fiery 
eyes glaring down from among the leaves. At 
length I thought of my supper, and turned to 
see if my half turkey was cooked. In crowd- 
ing so near the fire, I had pressed the meat 
into the flames, and it was consumed, I had 
nothing to do but roast the other half, and take 
better care of it. On that half I made my 
supper, without salt or bread. I was still so 
possessed with the dread of panthers, that I 
could not close my eyes all night, but lay 
watching the trees until daybreak, when all 



TRalpb TRingwoofc 279 



my fears were dispelled with the darkness ; 
and as I saw the morning sun sparkling down 
through the branches of the trees, I smiled 
to think how I suffered myself to be dismayed 
by sounds and shadows ; but I was a young 
woodsman, and a stranger in Kentucky. 

1 ' Having breakfasted on the remainder of 
my turkey and slaked my thirst at the bub- 
bling stream, without farther dread of panthers, 
I resumed my wayfaring with buoyant feelings. 
I again saw deer, but, as usual, running, run- 
ning ! I tried in vain to get a shot at them, 
and began to fear I never should. I was gaz- 
ing with vexation after a herd in full scamper, 
when I was startled by a human voice. Turn- 
ing round I saw a man at a short distance from 
me in a hunting-dress. 

11 ' What are you after, my lad ? ' cried he. 

' ' ' Those deer, ' replied I, pettishly ; ' but it 
seems as if they never stand still. ' 

1 ' Upon that he burst out laughing. ' Where 
are you from ? ' said he. 

" ' From Richmond. ' 

" 'What! In old Yirginny ? ' 

"' The same.' 

1 ' ' And how on earth did you get here ? ' 

" * I landed at Green River from a broad- 
horn.' 

1 ' And where are your companions? ' 



28o Stories ano Xegenos 



11 'I have none.' 

" 'What!— all alone?' 

"'Yes.' 

1 ' ' Where are j t ou going ? '' 

"'Anywhere.' 

' ' ' And what have you come here for ? ' 

" 'To hunt.' 

11 ' Well,' said he, laughingly, ' you '11 make 
a real hunter; there's no mistaking that! 
Have you killed anything ? ' 

" ' Nothing but a turkey ; I can't get within 
shot of a deer ; they are always running.' 

"'Oh, I'll tell you the secret of that. 
You 're always pushing forward, and starting 
the deer at a distance, and gazing at those that 
are scampering ; but you must step as slow 
and silent and cautious as a cat, and keep your 
eyes close around 3-ou, and lurk from tree to 
tree, if 3-ou wish to get a chance at deer. But 
come, go home with me. My name is Bill 
Smithers ; I live not far off ; staj^ with me a 
little while, and I '11 teach you how to hunt.' 

" I gladi}* accepted the invitation of honest 
Bill Smithers. We soon reached his habita- 
tion, a mere log-hut, with a square hole for a 
window, and a chimney made of sticks and 
clay. Here he lived, with a wife and child. 
He had ' girdled ' the trees for an acre or two 
around, preparatory to clearing a space for 



IRalpb TRmgwooD 281 



corn and potatoes. In the meantime he main- 
tained his family entirely by his rifle, and I 
soon found him to be a first-rate huntsman. 
Under his tutelage I received my first effective 
lessons in ' woodcraft.' 

"The more I knew of a hunter's life, the 
more I relished it. The country, too, which 
had been the promised land of my boyhood, did 
not, like most promised lands, disappoint me. 
No wilderness could be more beautiful than 
this part of Kentucky in those times. The 
forests were open and spacious, with noble 
trees, some of which looked as if they had stood 
for centuries. There were beautiful prairies, 
too, diversified with groves and clumps of 
trees, which looked like vast parks, and in 
which you could see the deer running, at a 
great distance. In the proper season, these 
prairies would be covered in many places with 
wild strawberries, where your horse's hoofs 
would be dyed to the fetlock. I thought there 
could not be another place in the world equal 
to Kentucky ; — and I think so still. 

" After I had passed ten or twelve days with 
Bill Smithers, I thought it time to shift my 
quarters, for his house was scarce large enough 
for his own family, and I had no idea of being 
an encumbrance to any one. I accordingly 
made up my bundle, shouldered my rifle, took 



282 Stories ano Xegenos 



a friendly leave of Smithers and his wife, and 
set out in quest of a Nimrod of the wilderness, 
one John Miller, who lived alone, nearly forty 
miles off, and who I hoped would be well 
pleased to have a hunting companion. 

1 ' I soon found out that one of the most im- 
portant items in woodcraft, in a new country, 
was the skill to find one's way in the wilder- 
ness. There were no regular roads in the 
forests, but they were cut up and perplexed 
by paths leading in all directions. Some of 
these were made by the cattle of the settlers, 
and were called ' stock-tracks,' but others 
had been made by the immense droves of 
buffaloes which roamed about the country 
from the flood until recent times. These 
were called buffalo-tracks, and traversed Ken- 
tucky from end to end, like highways. 
Traces of them may still be seen in uncul- 
tivated parts, or deeply worn in the rocks 
where they crossed the mountains. I was a 
young woodsman, and sorely puzzled to dis- 
tinguish one kind of track from the other, or 
to make out my course through this tangled 
labyrinth. While thus perplexed, I heard a 
distant roaring and rushing sound ; a gloom 
stole over the forest. On looking up, when I 
could catch a stray glimpse of the sky, I be- 
held the clouds rolled up like balls, the lower 



•Ralpb IRinswoofc 283 



part as black as ink. There was now and 
then an explosion, like a burst of cannonry 
afar off, and the crash of a falling tree. I had 
heard of hurricanes in the woods, and surmised 
that one was at hand. It soon came crashing 
its way, the forest writhing, and twisting, and 
groaning before it. The hurricane did not 
extend far on either side, but in a manner 
ploughed a furrow through the woodland, 
snapping off or uprooting trees that had stood 
for centuries, and filling the air with whirling 
branches. I was directly in its course, and 
took my stand behind an immense poplar, six 
feet in diameter. It bore for a time the full 
fury of the blast, but at length began to yield. 
Seeing it falling, I scrambled nimbly round 
the trunk like a squirrel. Down it went, bear- 
ing down another tree with it. I crept under 
the trunk as a shelter, and was protected from 
other trees which fell around me, but was sore 
all over, from the twigs and branches driven 
against me by the blast. 

' ' This was the only incident of consequence 
that occurred on my way to John Miller's, 
where I arrived on the following day, and was 
received by the veteran with the rough kind- 
ness of a backwoodsman. He was a gray- 
haired man, hardy and weather-beaten, with a 
blue wart, like a great bead, over one eye, 



284 Stories ano Xegenos 



whence he was nick-named by the hunters, 
'Blue-bead Miller.' He had been in these 
parts from the earliest settlements, and had 
signalized himself in the hard conflicts with 
the Indians, which gained Kentucky the ap- 
pellation of ' the Bloody Ground. ' In one of 
these fights he had had an arm broken ; in 
another he had narrowly escaped, when hotly 
pursued, by jumping from a precipice thirty 
feet high into a river. 

1 ' Miller willingly received me into his house 
as an inmate, and seemed pleased with the 
idea of making a hunter of me. His dwelling 
was a small log-house, A 7 ith a loft or garret of 
boards, so that there was ample room for both 
of us. Under his instruction, I soon made a 
tolerable proficienc} T in hunting. My first ex- 
ploit of any consequence was killing a bear. I 
was hunting in company with two brothers, 
when we came upon the track of Bruin, in a 
wood where there was an undergrowth of 
canes and grape-vines. He was scrambling 
up a tree, when I shot him through the breast : 
he fell to the ground, and lay motionless. 
The brothers sent in their dog, who seized the 
bear by the throat. Bruin raised one arm, and 
gave the dog a hug that crushed his ribs. 
One yell, and all was over. I don't know 
which was first dead, the dog or the bear. 



"Kalpb IRfngwood 285 



The two brothers sat down and cried like 
children over their unfortunate dog. Yet they 
were mere rough huntsmen, almost as wild 
and untamable as Indians ; but they were fine 
fellows. 

"By degrees I became known, and some- 
what of a favorite among the hunters of the 
neighborhood ; that is to say, men who lived 
within a circle of thirty or forty miles, and 
came occasionally to see John Miller, who was 
a patriarch among them. They lived widely 
apart, in log-huts and wigwams, almost with 
the simplicity of Indians, and wellnigh as 
destitute of the comforts and inventions of 
civilized life. They seldom saw each other ; 
weeks, and even months would elapse, without 
their visiting. When they did meet, it was 
very much after the manner of Indians ; loiter- 
ing about all day, without having much to 
say, but becoming communicative as evening 
advanced, and sitting up half the night before 
the fire, telling hunting-stories, and terrible 
tales of the fights of the Bloody Ground. 

" Sometimes several would join in a distant 
hunting expedition, or rather campaign. Ex- 
peditions of this kind lasted from November 
until April, during which we laid up our stock 
of summer provisions. We shifted our hunt- 
ing-camps from place to place, according as we 



286 Stories ano OLesenos 



found the game. They were generally pitched 
near a run of water, and close by a canebrake, 
to screen us from the wind. One side of our 
lodge was open towards the fire. Our horses 
were hoppled and turned loose in the cane- 
brakes, with bells round their necks. One of 
the party stayed at home to watch the camp, 
prepare the meals, and keep off the wolves; 
the others hunted. When a hunter killed a 
deer at a distance from the camp, he would 
open it and take out the entrails ; then, climb- 
ing a sapling, he would bend it down, tie the 
deer to the top, and let it spring up again, so 
as to suspend the carcass out of reach of the 
wolves. At night he would return to the 
camp, and give an account of his luck. The 
next morning early he would get a horse out 
of the canebrake and bring home his game. 
That day he would stay at home to cut up the 
carcass, while the others hunted. 

" Our days were thus spent in silent and 
lonely occupations. It was only at night that 
we would gather together before the fire, and 
be sociable. I was a novice, and used to listen 
with open eyes and ears to the strange and 
wild stories told by the old hunters, and be- 
lieved everything I heard. Some of their 
stories bordered upon the supernatural. They 
believed that their rifles might be spellbound, 



IRalpb IRincjwooD 287 



so as not to be able to kill a buffalo, even 
at arm's length. This superstition they had 
derived from the Indians, who often think the 
white hunters have laid a spell upon their 
rifles. Miller partook of this superstition, and 
used to tell of his rifle's having a spell upon 
it ; but it often seemed to me to be a shuffling 
way of accounting for a bad shot. If a hunter 
grossly missed his aim, he would ask, ' Who 
shot last with his rifle ? ' — and hint that he 
must have charmed it. The sure mode to dis- 
enchant the gun was to shoot a silver bullet 
out of it. 

" By the opening of spring we would gen- 
erally have quantities of bear's meat and veni- 
son salted, dried, and smoked, and numerous 
packs of skins. We would then make the 
best of our way home from our distant hunt- 
ing-grounds, transporting our spoils, sometimes 
in canoes along the rivers, sometimes on horse- 
back over land, and our return would often be 
celebrated by feasting and dancing, in true 
backwoods style. I have given you some idea 
of our hunting ; let me now give you a sketch 
of our frolicking. 

" It was on our return from a winter's hunt- 
ing in the neighborhood of Green River, when 
we received notice that there was to be a grand 
frolic at Bob Mosely's to greet the hunters. 



288 Stories ano Hegenos 



This Bob Mosely was a prime fellow through- 
out the country. He was an indifferent hunter, 
it is true, and rather lazy, to boot ; but then 
he could play the fiddle, and that was enough 
to make him of consequence. There was no 
other man within a hundred miles that could 
play the fiddle, so there was no having a regu- 
lar frolic without Bob Mosely. The hunters, 
therefore, were always ready to give him a 
share of their game in exchange for his music, 
and Bob was always ready to get up a carousal 
whenever there was a party returning from a 
hunting expedition. The present frolic was to 
take place at Bob Mosely' s own house, which 
was on the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the Muddy, 
which is a branch of Rough Creek, which is a 
branch of Green River. 

1 ' Everybody was agog for the revel at Bob 
Mosely' s; and as all the fashion of the neigh- 
borhood was to be there, I thought I must 
brush up for the occasion. My leathern hunt- 
ing-dress, which was the only one I had, was 
somewhat the worse for wear, it is true, and 
considerably japanned with blood and grease ; 
but I was up to hunting expedients. Getting 
into a periogue, I paddled off to a part of the 
Green River where there was sand and clay, 
that might serve for soap ; then, taking off my 
dress, I scrubbed and scoured it, until I thought 



IRalpb IRtngwoofc 289 



it looked very well. I then put it on the end 
of a stick, and hung it out of the periogue to 
dry, while I stretched myself very comfortably 
on the green bank of the river. Unluckily a 
flaw struck the periogue, and tipped over the 
stick ; down went my dress to the bottom of 
the river, and I never saw it more. Here was 
I, left almost in a state of nature. I managed 
to make a kind of Robinson Crusoe garb of 
undressed skins, with the hair on, which en- 
abled me to get home with decency ; but my 
dream of gayety and fashion was at an end ; 
for how could I think of figuring in high life 
at the Pigeon Roost, equipped like a mere 
Orson ? 

' ' Old Miller, who really began to take some 
pride in me, was confounded when he under- 
stood that I did not intend to go to Bob 
Mosely's ; but when I told him my misfortune, 
and that I had no dress, 'By the powers,' 
cried he, ' but you shall go, and you shall be 
the best dressed and the best mounted lad 
there ! ' 

" He immediately set to work to cut out and 
make up a hunting-shirt, of dressed deer-skin, 
gayly fringed at the shoulders, and leggins 
of the same, fringed from hip to heel. He 
then made me a rakish raccoon-cap, with a 

flaunting tail to it, mounted me on his best 

19 



2go Stories anD Xegen&s 



horse ; and I may say, without vanity, that I 
was one of the smartest fellows that figured on 
that occasion at the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the 
Muddy. 

" It was no small pccasion, either, let me 
tell you. Bob Mosely's house was a tolerably 
large bark shanty, with a clapboard roof; and 
there were assembled all the young hunters 
and pretty girls of the country for many a 
mile round. The young men were in their 
best hunting-dresses, but not one could com- 
pare with mine ; and my raccoon-cap, with its 
flowing tail, was the admiration of everybody. 
The girls were mostly in doe-skin dresses ; 
for there was no spinning and weaving as yet 
in the woods, nor any need of it. I never saw 
girls that seemed to me better dressed, and I 
was somewhat of a judge, having seen fash- 
ions at Richmond. We had a hearty dinner, 
and a merry one ; for there was Jemmy Kiel, 
famous for raccoon-hunting, and Bob Tarleton, 
and Wesley Pigman, and Joe Taylor, and 
several other prime fellows for a frolic, that 
made all ring again, and laughed that you 
might have heard them a mile. 

" After dinner we began dancing, and were 
hard at it when, about three o'clock in the 
afternoon, there was a new arrival — the two 
daughters of old Simon Schultz ; two young 



IRalpb "Ringwoofc 291 



ladies that affected fashion and late hours. 
Their arrival had nearly put an end to all our 
merriment. I must go a little round about in 
my story to explain to you how that happened. 

"As old Schultz, the father, was one day 
looking in the canebrakes for his cattle, he 
came upon the track of horses. He knew they 
were none of his, and that none of his neigh- 
bors had horses about that place. They must 
be stray horses, or must belong to some travel- 
ler who had lost his way, as the track led no- 
where. He accordingly followed it up, until 
he came to an unlucky peddler, with two or 
three pack-horses, who had been bewildered 
among the cattle-tracks, and had wandered 
for two or three days among woods and cane- 
brakes, until he was almost famished. 

" Old Schultz brought him to his house, fed 
him on venison, bear's meat, and hominy, and 
at the end of a week put him in prime con- 
dition. The peddler could not sufficiently ex- 
press his thankfulness, and when about to 
depart, inquired what he had to pay. Old 
Schultz stepped back with surprise. ' Stranger, ' 
said he, ' you have been welcome under my 
roof. I 've given you nothing but wild meat 
and hominy, because I had no better, but have 
been glad of your company. You are welcome 
to stay as long as you please ; but, by Zounds! 



2Q2 Stories ano Xegenos 



if any one offers to pay Simon Schultz for food, 
be affronts him ! ' So saying, he walked out 
in a huff. 

" The peddler admired the hospitality of his 
host, but could not reconcile it to his conscience 
to go away without making some recompense. 
There were honest Simon's two daughters, 
two strapping, red-haired girls. He opened 
his packs and displayed riches before them of 
which they had no conception ; for in those 
days there were no country stores in those parts, 
with their artificial finery and trinketry ; and 
this was the first peddler that had wandered 
into that part of the wilderness. The girls 
were for a time completely dazzled, and knew 
not what to choose ; but what caught their 
eyes most were two looking-glasses, about the 
size of a dollar, set in gilt tin. They had 
never seen the like before, having used no 
other mirror than a pail of water. The ped- 
dler presented them these jewels without the 
least hesitation ; nay, he gallantly hung them 
round their necks by red ribbons, almost as 
fine as the glasses themselves. This done, he 
took his departure, leaving them as much as- 
tonished as two princesses in a fairy-tale, that 
have received a magic gift from an enchanter. 

"It was with these looking-glasses hung 
round their necks as lockets, by red ribbons, 



IRalpb IRinswoofc 293 



that old Schultz's daughters made their ap- 
pearance at three o'clock in the afternoon, at 
the frolic at Bob Mosely's, on the Pigeon-Roost 
Fork of the Muddy. 

' ' By the powers, but it was an event ! Such 
a thing had never before been seen in Ken- 
tucky. Bob Tarleton, a strapping fellow, 
with a head like a chestnut-burr, and a look 
like a boar in an apple-orchard, stepped up, 
caught hold of the looking-glass of one of the 
girls, and gazing at it for a moment, cried out, 
' Joe Taylor, come here ! come here ! I' 11 be 
darn'd if Patty Schultz ain't got a locket that 
you can see your face in, as clear as in a spring 
of water ! ' 

"In a twinkling all the young hunters 
gathered round old Schultz's daughters. I, 
who knew what looking-glasses were, did not 
budge. Some of the girls who sat near me 
were excessively mortified at finding them- 
selves thus deserted. I heard Peggy Pugh say 
to Sally Pigman, ' Goodness knows it 's well 
Schultz's daughters is got them things round 
their necks, for it 's the first time the young 
men crowded round them ! ' 

11 1 saw immediately the danger of the case. 
We were a small community, and could not 
afford to be split up by feuds. So I stepped 
up to the girls, and whispered to them : 



294 Stories ano ^Legends 



Polly,' said I, ' those lockets are powerful 
fine, and become you amazingly, but you don't 
consider that the country is not advanced 
enough in these parts for such things. You 
and I understand these matters, but these peo- 
ple don't. Fine things like these may do very 
well in the old settlements, but they won't 
answer at the Pigeon- Roost Fork of the 
Muddy. You had better lay them aside for 
the present, or we shall have no peace.' 

" Polly and her sister luckily saw their 
error ; they took off the lockets, laid them 
aside, and harmony was restored ; otherwise, 
I verily believe there would have been an end 
of our community. Indeed, notwithstanding 
the great sacrifice they made on this occasion, I 
do not think old Schultz's daughters were ever 
much liked afterwards among the young 
women. 

1 ' This was the first time that looking-glasses 
were ever seen in the Green River part of 
Kentucky. 

11 1 had now lived some time with old Miller, 
and had become a tolerably expert hunter. 
Game, however, began to grow scarce. The 
buffalo had gathered together, as if by uni- 
versal understanding, and had crossed the 
Mississippi, never to return. Strangers kept 
pouring into the country, clearing away the 



•Ralpb IRinswooD 295 



forests, and building in all directions. The 
hunters began to grow restive. Jemmy Kiel, 
the same of whom I have already spoken for 
his skill in raccoon catching, came to me one 
day. ' I can't stand this any longer,' said he, 
1 we 're getting too thick here. Simon Schultz 
crowds me so that I have no comfort of my 
life.' 

" ' Why, how you talk ! ' said I ; ' Simon 
Schultz lives twelve miles off.' 

' ' ' No matter ; his cattle run with mine, and 
I 've no idea of living where another man's 
cattle can run with mine. That 's too close 
neighborhood ; I want elbow room. This 
country, too, is growing too poor to live in ; 
there 's no game ; so two or three of us have 
made up our minds to follow the buffalo to the 
Missouri, and we should like to have you of 
the party.' Other hunters of my acquaintance 
talked in the same manner. This set me think- 
ing ; but the more I thought, the more I was 
perplexed. I had no one to advise with ; old 
Miller and his associates knew of but one mode 
of life, and I had no experience in any other, 
but I had a wider scope of thought. When 
out hunting alone, I used to forget the sport, 
and sit for hours together on the trunk of a 
tree, with rifle in hand, buried in thought, 
and debating with myself: 'Shall I go with 



296 Stories ano Xegenos 



Jemmy Kiel and his company, or shall I 
remain here ? If I remain here, there will soon 
be nothing left to hunt. But am I to be a 
hunter all my life? Have not I something 
more in me than to be carrying a rifle on my 
shoulder, day after day, and dodging about 
after bears, and deer, and other brute beasts ? ' 
My vanity told me I had ; and I called to mind 
my boyish boast to my sister, that I would 
never return home until I returned a member 
of Congress from Kentucky ; but was this the 
way to fit myself for such a station ? 

"Various plans passed through my mind, 
but they were abandoned almost as soon as 
formed. At length I determined on becoming 
a lawyer. True it is, I knew almost nothing. 
I had left school before I had learnt beyond the 
'Rule of Three.' 'Never mind,' said I to 
myself, resolutely, ' I am a terrible fellow for 
hanging on to anything when I 've once made 
up my mind ; and if a man has but ordinary 
capacity, and will set to work with heart and 
soul, and stick to it, he can do almost any- 
thing.' With this maxim, which has been 
pretty much my main stay throughout life, I 
fortified myself in my determination to attempt 
the law. But how was I to set about it? I 
must quit this forest life, and go to one or 
other of the towns, where I might be able to 



IRalpb IRtngvvoofr 207 



study and to attend the courts. This, too, 
required funds. I examined into the state of 
my finances. The purse given me by my 
father had remained untouched, in the bottom 
of an old chest up in the loft, for money was 
scarcely needed in these parts. I had bar- 
gained away the skins acquired in hunting, 
for a horse and various other matters, on 
which, in case of need, I could raise funds. I 
therefore thought I could make shift to main- 
tain myself until I was fitted for the bar. 

"I informed my worthy host and patron, 
old Miller, of my plan. He shook his head at 
mjr turning my back upon the woods when I 
was in a fair way of making a first-rate hunter ; 
but he made no effort to dissuade me. I ac- 
cordingly set off in September, on horseback, 
intending to visit Lexington, Frankfort, and 
other of the principal towns, in search of a 
favorable place to prosecute my studies. My 
choice was made sooner than I expected. I 
had put up one night at Bardstown, and 
found, on inquiry, that I could get comfortable 
board and accommodation in a private family for 
a dollar and a half a week. I liked the place, 
and resolved to look no farther. So the next 
morning I prepared to turn my face homeward, 
and take my final leave of forest life. 

"I had taken my breakfast, and was wait- 



298 Stories and Xegends 



ing for my horse, when, in pacing up and down 
the piazza, I saw a young girl seated near a 
window, evidently a visitor. She was very 
pretty, with auburn hair and blue eyes, and was 
dressed in white. I had seen nothing of the 
kind since I had left Richmond, and at that 
time I was too much of a boy to be much 
struck by female charms. She was so delicate 
and dainty-looking, so different from the hale, 
buxom, brown girls of the woods ; and then 
her white dress ! — it was perfectly dazzling ! 
Never was poor youth more taken by surprise 
and suddenly bewitched. My heart yearned 
to know her ; but how was I to accost her ? 
I had grown wild in the woods, and had none 
of the habitudes of polite life. Had she been 
like Peggy Pugh, or Sally Pigman, or anj^ 
other of my leathern-dressed belles of the 
Pigeon Roost, I should have approached her 
without dread ; nay , had she been as fair as 
Schultz's daughters, with their looking-glass 
lockets, I should not have hesitated ; but that 
white dress and those auburn ringlets, and 
blue eyes, and delicate looks quite daunted 
while they fascinated me. I don't know what 
put it into my head, but I thought, all at once, 
that I would kiss her ! It would take a long 
acquaintance to arrive at such a boon, but I 
might seize upon it by sheer robbery. Nobody 



IRalpb IRingwoofc 299 



knew me here. I would just step in, snatch a 
kiss, mount my horse, and ride off. She would 
not be the worse for it ; and that kiss— oh ! I 
should die if I did not get it ! 

' ' I gave no time for the thought to cool, but 
entered the house, and stepped lightly into the 
room. She was seated with her back to the 
door, looking out at the window, and did not 
hear my approach. I tapped her chair, and as 
she turned and looked up, I snatched as sweet 
a kiss as ever was stolen, and vanished in a 
twinkling. The next moment I was on horse- 
back, galloping homeward, my very ears tin- 
gling at what I had done. 

" On my return home, I sold my horse and 
turned everything to cash, and found, with the 
remains of the paternal purse, that I had nearly 
four hundred dollars, — a little capital which I 
resolved to manage with the strictest economy. 

' ' It was hard parting with old Miller, who 
had been like a father to me ; it cost me, too, 
something of a struggle to give up the free, 
independent, wild-w r ood life I had hitherto led ; 
but I had marked out my course, and have 
never been one to flinch or turn back. 

11 I footed it sturdily to Bardstown, took pos- 
session of the quarters for which I had bar- 
gained, shut myself up, and set to work with 
might and main to study. But what a task I 



3oo Stories ano Xegenos 



had before me ! I had everything to learn ; 
not merely law, but all the elementary branches 
of knowledge. I read and read for sixteen 
hours out of the four-and-twenty, but the more 
I read the more I became aware of my own 
ignorance, and shed bitter tears over my de- 
ficiency. It seemed as if the wilderness of 
knowledge expanded and grew more perplexed 
as I advanced. Every height gained only 
revealed a wider region to be traversed, and 
nearly filled me with despair. I grew moodj^, 
silent, and unsocial, but studied on doggedly 
and incessantl}'. The only person with whom 
I held any conversation, was the worthy man 
in whose house I was quartered. He was 
honest and well-meaning, but perfectly igno- 
rant, and I believe would have liked me much 
better if I had not been so much addicted to 
reading. He considered all books filled with 
lies and impositions, and seldom could look 
into one without finding something to rouse 
his spleen. Nothing put him into a greater 
passion than the assertion that the world turned 
on its own axis every four-and-tweuty hours. 
He swore it was an outrage upon common 
sense. ' Why, if it did,' said he, ' there would 
not be a drop of water in the well by morning, 
and all the milk and cream in the dairy would 
be turned topsy-turvy ! ' And then to talk 



"Ralpb 'Kingvvoo& 301 



of the earth going round the sun ! ' How 
do they know it? I've seen the sun rise 
every morning and set every evening for more 
than thirty years. They must not talk to me 
about the earth's going round the sun ! ' 

" At another time he was in a perfect fret at 
being told the distance between the sun and 
moon. ' How can any one tell the distance ? ' 
cried he. 'Who surveyed it? who carried 
the chain ? By Jupiter ! they only talk this 
way before me to annoy me. But then there 's 
some people of sense who give in to this 
cursed humbug ! There 's Judge Broadnax, 
now, one of the best lawyers we have ; isn't 
it surprising he should believe in such stuff? 
Why, sir, the other day I heard him talk of 
the distance from a star he called Mars to the 
sun ! He must have got it out of one or other 
of those confounded books he 's so fond of 
reading ; a book some impudent fellow has 
written, who knew nobody could swear the 
distance was more or less.' 

"For my own part, feeling my own defi- 
ciency in scientific lore, I never ventured to 
unsettle his conviction that the sun made 
his daily circuit round the earth ; and for 
aught I said to the contrary, he lived and 
died in that belief. 

"I had been about a year at Bardstown, 



3oc Stories ano Xegenog 



living thus studiously and reclusely, when, 
as I was one day walking the street, I met 
two young girls, in one of whom I immedi- 
ately recalled the little beauty whom I had 
kissed so impudently. She blushed up to the 
eyes, and so did I ; but we both passed on 
without further sign of recognition. This 
second glimpse of her, however, caused an 
odd fluttering about my heart. I could not 
get her out of my thoughts for days. She 
quite interfered with my studies. I tried to 
think of her as a mere child, but it would not 
do ; she had improved in beauty, and was 
tending toward womanhood : and then I my- 
self was but little better than a stripling. 
However, I did not attempt to seek after her, 
or even to find out who she was, but returned 
doggedly to n^ books. By degrees she faded 
from my thoughts, or if she did cross them 
occasional^, it was only to increase my de- 
spondency, for I feared that, with all my exer- 
tions, I should never be able to fit myself for 
the bar, or enable myself to support a wife. 

" One cold stormy evening I was seated, in 
dumpish mood, in the bar-room of the inn, 
looking into the fire and turning over uncom- 
fortable thoughts, when I was accosted by 
someone who had entered the room without 
my perceiving it. I looked up, and saw before 



•Ralpb 1*in0woo& 303 



me a tall, and, as I thought, pompous-looking 
man, arrayed in smallclothes and knee- 
buckles, with powdered head, and shoes nicely 
blacked and polished ; a style of dress unpar- 
alleled in those days in that rough country. I 
took a pique against him from the very portli- 
ness of his appearance and stateliness of his 
manner, and bristled up as he accosted me. 
He demanded if my name was not Rmgwood. 

1 ' I was startled, for I supposed myself 
perfectly incog. ; but I answered in the affirm- 
ative. 

' ' ' Your family, I believe, lives in Rich- 
mond.' 

"My gorge began to rise. 'Yes, sir,' 
replied I, sulkily, ' my family does live in 
Richmond.' 

" 'And what, may I ask, has brought you 
into this part of the country ? ' 

"'Zounds, sir!' cried I, starting on my 
feet, 'what business is it of yours? How 
dare 3'ou to question me in this manner ? ' 

' ' The entrance of some persons prevented 
a reply ; but I walked up and down the bar- 
room, fuming with conscious independence 
and insulted dignity, while the pompous- 
looking personage, who had thus trespassed 
upon my spleen, retired without proffering 
another word. 



304 Storiea and OLegenDs 



"The next day, while seated in my room, 
someone tapped at the door, and, on being 
bid to enter, the stranger iu the powdered 
head, smallclothes, and shining shoes and 
buckles, walked in with ceremonious courtesy. 

" My boyish pride was again in arms, but 
he subdued me. He was formal, but kind 
and friendly. He knew my family and under- 
stood my situation, and the dogged struggle 
I was making. A little conversation, when 
my jealous pride was once put to rest, drew 
everything from me. He was a lawyer of 
experience and of extensive practice, and 
offered at once to take me with him and direct 
my studies. The offer was too advantageous 
and gratifying not to be immediately accepted. 
From that time I began to look up. I was 
put into a proper track, and was enabled to 
study to a proper purpose. I made acquaint- 
ance, too, with some of the young men of 
the place who were in the same pursuit, and 
was encouraged at finding that I could ' hold 
my own' in argument with them. We insti- 
tuted a debating-club, in which I soon became 
prominent and popular. Men of talents, en- 
gaged in other pursuits, joined it, and this 
diversified our subjects and put me on various 
tracks of inquiry. Ladies, too, attended 
some of our discussions, and this gave them 



TRalpb 1Rmg\voo& 305 



a polite tone and had an influence on the 
manners of the debaters. My legal patron 
also may have had a favorable effect in cor- 
recting any roughness contracted in my hunt- 
er's life. He was calculated to bend me in 
an opposite direction, for he was of the old 
school ; quoted ' Chesterfield ' on all occa- 
sions, and talked of Sir Charles Grandison, 
who was his beau ideal. It was Sir Charles 
Grandison, however, Kentucky ized. 

" I had always been fond of female society., 
My experience, however, had hitherto been 
among the rough daughters of the backwoods- 
men, and I felt an awe of young ladies in ' store 
clothes,' delicately brought up. Two or three 
of the married ladies of Bardstown, who had 
heard me at the debating-club, determined that 
I was a genius, and undertook to bring me out. 
I believe I really improved under their hands, 
became quiet where I had been shy or sulky, 
and easy where I had been impudent. 

" I called to take tea one evening with one 
of these ladies, when, to my surprise, and 
somewhat to my confusion, I found with her 
the identical blue-eyed little beauty, whom I 
had so audaciously kissed. I was formally in- 
troduced to her, but neither of us betrayed any 
sign of previous acquaintance, except by blush- 
ing to the eyes. While tea was getting ready, 



306 Stories ano ULegenos 



the lady of the house went out of the room to 
give some directions, and left us alcne. 

"Heavens and earth, what a situation ! I 
would have given all the pittance 1 was worth, 
to have been in the deepest dell of the forest. 
I felt the necessity of saying something in 
excuse of my former rudeness, but I could not 
conjure up an idea, nor utter a word. Every 
moment matters were growing worse. I felt 
at one time tempted to do as I had done when 
I robbed her of the kiss, — bolt from the room, 
and take to flight ; but I was chained to the 
spot, for I really longed to gain her good- will. 

" At length I plucked up courage, on seeing 
that she was equally confused with myself, and 
walking desperatel} 7 up to her, I exclaimed : 

" ' I have been trying to muster up some- 
thing to say to you, but I cannot. I feel that 
I am in a horrible scrape. Do have pity on 
me, and help me out of it ! ' 

" A smile dimpled about her mouth, and 
played among the blushes of her cheek. She 
looked up with a shy but arch glance of the 
eye, that expressed a volume of comic recollec- 
tion ; we both broke into a laugh, and from 
that moment all went on well. 

"A few evenings afterward I met her at a 
dance, and prosecuted the acquaintance. I 
Boon became deeply attached to her, paid my 



•Ralpb IRingwoofc 307 



court regularly, and before I was nineteen 
years of age had engaged myself to marry her. 
I spoke to her mother, a widow lady, to ask 
her consent. She seemed to demur ; upon 
which, with my customary haste, I told her 
there would be no use in opposing the match, 
for if her daughter chose to have me, I would 
take her, in defiance of her family, and the 
whole world. 

" She laughed, and told me I need not give 
myself any uneasiness ; there would be no 
unreasonable opposition . She knew my family, 
and all about me. The only obstacle was, that 
I had no means of supporting a wife, and she 
had nothing to give with her daughter. 

1 ' No matter ; at that moment everything 
was bright before me. I was in one of my 
sanguine moods. I feared nothing, doubted 
nothing. So it was agreed that I should 
prosecute my studies, obtain a license, and as 
soon as I should be fairly launched in business, 
we would be married. 

1 ' I now prosecuted my studies with redoubled 
ardor, and was up to my ears in law, when I 
received a letter from my father, who had heard 
of me and my whereabouts. He applauded 
the course I had taken, but advised me to lay 
a foundation of general knowledge, and offered 
to defray my expenses if I would go to college, 



3o8 Stories ano Xegenos 



I felt the want of a general education, and was 
staggered with this offer. It militated some- 
what against the self-dependent course I had 
so proudly, or rather conceitedly, marked out 
for myself, but it would enable me to enter 
more advantageously upon my legal career. 
I talked over the matter with the lovely girl 
to whom I was engaged. She sided in opinion 
with my father, and talked so disinterestedly, 
yet tenderly, that if possible, I loved her more 
than ever. I reluctantly, therefore, agreed to 
go to college for a couple of years, though it 
must necessarily postpone our union. 

11 Scarcely had I formed this resolution, when 
her mother was taken ill, and died, leaving 
her without a protector. This again altered all 
my plans. I felt as if I could protect her. I 
gave up all idea of collegiate studies ; per- 
suaded myself that by dint of industry and 
application I might overcome the deficiencies 
of education, and resolved to take out a license 
as soon as possible. 

" That very autumn I was admitted to the 
bar, and within a month afterward was mar- 
ried. We were a 3 7 oung couple, — she not 
much above sixteen, I not quite twenty, — 
and both almost without a dollar in the world. 
The establishment which we set up was suited 
to our circumstances : a log-house, with two 



TRalpb IRincjwoofc 309 



small rooms ; a bed, a table, a half-dozen 
chairs, a half-dozen knives and forks, a half- 
dozen spoons ; everything by half-dozens ; a 
little Delft ware ; everything in a small wa}' : 
we were so poor, but then so happy ! 

" We had not been married many days when 
court was held at a country town, about twenty- 
five miles distant. It was necessary for me to 
go there, and put myself in the way of busi- 
ness ; bu. how was I to go? I had expended 
all my means on our establishment ; and then, 
it was hard parting with my wife so soon after 
marriage. However, go I must. Money must 
be made, or we should soon have the wolf at 
the door. I accordingly borrowed a horse, 
and borrowed a little cash, and rode off from 
my door, leaving my wife standing at it, and 
waving her hand after me. Her last look, so 
sweet and beaming, went to my heart. I felt 
as if I could go through fire and water for her. 

1 ' I arrived at the county town on a cool 
October evening. The inn was crowded, for 
the court was to commence on the following 
day. I knew no one, and wondered how I, a 
stranger and a mere youngster, was to make 
my way in such a crowd, and to get business. 
The public room was thronged with the idlers 
of the country, who gather together on such 
occasions. There was some drinking going 



3io Stories ano Xegcnos 



forward, with much noise, and a little alterca- 
tion. Just as I entered the room, I saw a 
rough bully of a fellow, who was partly in- 
toxicated, strike an old man. He came swag- 
gering by me, and elbowed me as he passed. 
I immediately knocked him down, and kicked 
him into the street. I needed no better intro- 
duction. In a moment I had a dozen rough 
shakes of the hand and invitations to drink, 
and found myself quite a personage in this 
rough assembly. 

"The next morning the court opened. I 
took my seat among the lawyers, but felt as a 
mere spectator, not having a suit in progress 
or prospect, not having any idea where busi- 
ness was to come from. In the course of the 
morning, a man was put at the bar charged 
with passing counterfeit money, and was 
asked if he was ready for trial. He answered 
in the negative. He had been confined in a 
place where there were no lawyers, and had 
not had an opportunity of consulting any. 
He was told to choose counsel from the law- 
yers present, and to be ready for trial on the 
following day. He looked round the court, 
and selected me. I was thunderstruck. I 
could not tell why he should make such a 
choice. I, a beardless youngster, unpractised 
at the bar, perfectly unknown. I felt dim- 



IRalpb IRiwjwoofc 3" 



dent, yet delighted, and could have hugged 
the rascal. 

' ' Before leaving the court, he gave me one 
hundred dollars in a bag, as a retaining fee. 
I could scarcely believe my senses ; it seemed 
like a dream. The heaviness of the fee spoke 
but lightly in favor of his innocence, but that 
was no affair of mine. I was to be advocate, 
not judge, nor jury., I followed him to jail, 
and learned from him all the particulars of his 
case : thence I went to the clerk's office, and 
took minutes of the indictment. I then ex- 
amined the law on the subject, and prepared 
my brief in my room. All this occupied me 
until midnight, when I went to bed, and tried 
to sleep. It was all in vain. Never in my 
life was I more wide awake. A host of 
thoughts and fancies kept rushing through my 
mind ; the shower of gold that had so unex- 
pectedly fallen into my lap ; the idea of my 
poor little wife at home, that I was to astonish 
with my good fortune ! But then the awful 
responsibility I had undertaken ! — to speak for 
the first time in a strange court ; the expecta- 
tions the culprit had evidently formed of my 
talents ; all these, and a crowd of similar no- 
tions, kept whirling through my mind. I 
tossed about all night, fearing the morning 
would find me exhausted and incompetent ; in 



3i2 Stories ano Xeaenog 



a word, the day dawned on me, a miserable 
fellow ! 

" I got up feverish and nervous. I walked 
out before breakfast, striving to collect my 
thoughts, and tranquillize my feelings. It was 
a bright morning ; the air was pure and frosty. 
I bathed my forehead and my hands in a beau- 
tiful running stream ; but I could not allay the 
fever heat that raged within. I returned to 
breakfast, but could not eat. A single cup of 
coffee formed my repast. It was time to go to 
court, and I went there with a throbbing heart. 
I believe if it had not been for the thoughts 
of my little wife, in her lonely log-house, I 
should have given back to the man his hun- 
dred dollars, and relinquished the cause. I 
took my seat, looking, I am convinced, more 
like a culprit than the rogue I was to defend. 

11 When the time came for me to speak, my 
heart died within me. I rose embarrassed and 
dismayed, and stammered in opening my 
cause. I went on from bad to worse, and felt as 
if I was going down hill. Just then the pub- 
lic prosecutor, a man of talents, but somewhat 
rough in his practice, made a sarcastic remark 
on something I had said. It was like an elec- 
tric spark, and ran tingling through every 
vein in my body. In an instant m}- diffidence 
was gone. My whole spirit was in arms. I 



Halpb IRinawooD 313 



answered with promptness and bitterness, for I 
felt the cruelty of such an attack upon a novice 
in my situation. The public prosecutor made 
a kind of apology ; this, from a man of his 
redoubted powers, was a vast concession. I 
renewed my argument with a fearless glow ; 
carried the case through triumphantly, and the 
man was acquitted. 

1 ' This was the making of me. Everybody 
was curious to know who this new lawyer was, 
that had thus suddenly risen among them, 
and bearded the attorney-general at the very 
outset. The story of my dibut at the inn, on 
the preceding evening, when I had knocked 
down a bully, and kicked him out of doors, 
for striking an old man, was circulated, with 
favorable exaggerations. Even my very beard- 
less chin and juvenile countenance were in my 
favor, for the people gave me far more credit 
than I really deserved. The chance business 
which occurs in our country courts came throng- 
ing upon me. I was repeatedly employed in 
other causes ; and by Saturday night, when 
the court closed, and I had paid my bill at the 
inn, I found myself with a hundred and fifty 
dollars in silver, three hundred dollars in notes, 
and a horse that I afterwards sold for two hun- 
dred dollars more. 

1 ' Never did miser gloat on his money with 



314 Stories ano Xegenos 



more delight. I locked the door of my room, 
piled the money in a heap upon the table, 
walked round it, sat with my elbows on the 
table and my chin upon my hands, and gazed 
upon it. Was I thinking of the money ? No ! 
I was thinking of my little wife at home. An- 
other sleepless night ensued ; but what a night 
of golden fancies and splendid air-castles ! As 
soon as morning dawned, I was up, mounted 
the borrowed horse with which I had come to 
court, and led the other, which I had received 
as a fee. All the way I was delighting myself 
with the thoughts of the surprise I had in 
store for my little wife ; for both of us had 
expected nothing but that I should spend all 
the money I had borrowed, and should return 
in debt. 

" Our meeting was joyous, as you may sup- 
pose ; but I played the part of the Indian 
hunter, who, when he returns from the chase, 
never for a time speaks of his success. She 
had prepared a snug little rustic meal for me, 
and while it was getting ready, I seated my- 
self at an old-fashioned desk in one corner, 
and began to count over my money and put it 
away. She came to me before I had finished 
and asked who I had collected the money for. 

" 'For myself, to be sure,' replied I, with 
affected coolness ; ' I made it at court. ' 



•Ralpb IRingwooD 315 



" She looked me for a moment in the face, 
incredulously. I tried to keep my counte- 
nance, and to play Indian, but it would not do. 
My muscles began to twitch ; my feelings all 
at once gave way. I caught her in my arms ; 
laughed, cried, and danced about the room, 
like a crazy man. From that time forward, 
we never wanted for money. 

1 ' I had not been long in successful practice, 
when I was surprised one day by a visit from 
my woodland patron, old Miller. The tidings 
of my prosperity had reached him in the wil- 
derness, and he had walked one hundred and 
fifty miles on foot to see me. By that time I had 
improved my domestic establishment and had 
all things comfortable about me. He looked 
around him with a wondering eye, at what he 
considered luxuries and superfluities ; but sup- 
posed they were all right, in my altered circum- 
stances. He said he did not know, upon the 
whole, but that I acted for the best. It is true, if 
game had continued plenty, it would have been 
a folly for me to quit a hunter's life ; but hunting 
was pretty nigh done up in Kentucky. The buf- 
falo had gone to Missouri ; the elk were nearly 
gone also ; deer, too, were growing scarce ; 
they might last out his time, as he was growing 
old, but they were not worth setting up life 
upon. He had once lived on the borders of 



316 Stories ano Xegenos 



Virginia. Game grew scarce there ; he fol- 
lowed it up across Kentucky, and now it was 
again giving him the slip ; but he was too old 
to follow it farther. 

" He remained with us three days. My wife 
did everything in her power to make him com- 
fortable ; but at the end of that time he said he 
must be off again to the woods. He was tired 
of the village, and of having so many people 
about him. He accordingly returned to the 
wilderness, and to hunting life. But I fear he 
did not make a good end of it ; for I understand 
that a few years before his death he married 
Sukey Thomas, who lived at the White Oak 
Run." 




XTbe Seminoles, 

FROM the time of the chimerical cruisings 
of old Ponce de Leon in search of the 
Fountain of Youth ; the avaricious ex- 
pedition of Pamphilo de Narvaez in 
quest of gold ; and the chivalrous enterprise of 
Hernando de Soto, to discover and conquer a 
second Mexico, the natives of Florida have 
been continually subjected to the invasions and 
encroachments of white men. They have re- 
sisted them perseveringly but fruitlessly, and 
are now battling amidst swamps and morasses, 
for the last foothold of their native soil, with all 
the ferocity of despair. Can we wonder at the 
bitterness of a hostility that has been handed 
down from father to son for upward of three 
centuries, and exasperated by the wrongs and 
miseries of each succeeding generation ? The 
very name of the savages with whom we are 
fighting, betokens their fallen and homeless 
condition. Formed of the wrecks of once 
317 



318 Stories ano Xegcnos 



powerful tribes, and driven from their ancient 
seats of prosperity and dominion, they are 
known by the name of the Seminoles, or 
" Wanderers," 

Bartram, who tiavelled through Florida in 
the latter part of the last century, speaks of 
passing through a great extent of ancient In- 
dian fields, now silent and deserted, overgrown 
with forests, orange groves, and rank vegeta- 
tion, the site of the ancient Alachua, the capi- 
tal of a famous and powerful tribe, who in days 
of old could assemble thousands at bull-play 
and other athletic exercises " over these then 
happy fields and green plains." " Almost 
every step we take," adds he, " over these fer- 
tile heights, discovers the remains and traces 
of ancient human habitations and cultivation. ' ' 

We are told that about the year 1763, when 
Florida was ceded by the ( Spaniards to the 
English, the Indians generally retired from the 
towns and the neighborhood of the whites, and 
burying themselves in the deep forests, intricate 
sw r amps and hommocks, and vast savannahs 
of the interior, devoted themselves to a pastoral 
life, and the rearing of horses and cattle. 
These are the people that received the name of 
the Seminoles, or Wanderers, which they still 
retain. 

Bartram gives a pleasing picture of them at 



Gbe Semtnoles 319 



the time he visited them in their wilderness, 
where their distance from the abodes of the 
white man gave them a transient quiet and 
security. ' ' This handful of people, ' ' says he, 
"possesses a vast territory, all East and the 
greatest part of West Florida, which being 
naturally cut and divided into thousands of 
islets, knolls, and eminences, by the innumer- 
able rivers, lakes, swamps, vast savannahs, and 
ponds, form so many secure retreats and tem- 
porary dwelling-places that effectually guard 
them from any sudden invasions or attacks 
from their enemies ; and being such a swampy, 
hommocky country, furnishes such a plenty 
and variety of supplies for the nourishment 
of varieties of animals, that I can venture to 
assert, that no part of the globe so abounds with 
wild game, or creatures fit for the food of man. 
" Thus they enjoy a superabundance of the 
necessaries and conveniences of life, with the 
security of person and property, the two great 
concerns of mankind. The hides of deer, 
bears, tigers, and wolves, together with honey, 
wax, and other productions of the country, 
purchase their clothing, equipage, and domestic 
utensils from the whites. They seem to be free 
from want or desires. No cruel enemy to 
dread ; nothing to give them disquietude, but 
the gradual encroachments of the white people. 



32o Stories ano Xegenos 



Thus contented and undisturbed, they appear 
as blithe and free as the birds of the air, and 
like them as volatile and active, tuneful and 
vociferous. The visage, action, and deport- 
ment of the Seminoles form the most striking 
picture of happiness in this life ; joy, content- 
ment, love, and friendship, without guile or 
affectation, seem inherent in them, or predom- 
inant in their vital principle, for it leaves them 
with but the last breath of life. . . . They are 
fond of games and gambling, and amuse them- 
selves like children, in relating extravagant 
stories, to cause surprise and mirth." * 

The same writer gives an engaging picture 
of his treatment by these savages : 

1 ' Soon after entering the forests, we were 
met in the path by a small company of Indians, 
smiling and beckoning to us long before we 
joined them. This was a family of Talaha- 
sochte, who had been out on a hunt, and were 
returning home loaded with barbecued meat, 
hides, and honey. Their company consisted 
of the man, his wife and children, well mounted 
on fine horses, with a number of pack-horses. 
The man offered us a fawn-skin of honey, 
which I accepted, and at parting presented him 
with some fish-hooks, sewing needles, etc. 

11 On our return to camp in the evening, 

* Bartram's Travels in North America. 



XLbe Semmoles 321 



we were saluted by a party of young Indian 
warriors, who had pitched their tents on a 
green eminence near the lake, at a small dis- 
tance from our camp, under a little grove of 
oaks and palms. This company consisted of 
seven young Seminoles, under the conduct of a 
young prince or chief of Talahasochte, a town 
southward in the Isthmus. They were all 
dressed and painted with singular elegance, 
and richly ornamented with silver plates, 
chains, etc., after the Seminole mode, with 
waving plumes of feathers on their crests. On 
our coming up to them, they arose and shook 
hands ; we alighted, and sat a while with them 
by their cheerful fire. 

" The young prince informed our chief that 
he was in pursuit of a young fellow who had 
fled from the town, carrying off with him one 
of his favorite young wives. He said, merrily, 
he would have the ears of both of them before 
he returned. He was rather above the middle 
stature, and the most perfect human figure I 
ever saw ; of an amiable, engaging counte- 
nance, air, and deportment ; free and familiar in 
conversation, yet retaining a becoming grace- 
fulness and dignity. We arose, took leave of 
them, and crosssed a little vale, covered with a 
charming green turf, already illuminated by 
the soft light of the full moon. 



322 Stories ano Xegenos 



" Soon after joining our companions at camp, 
our neighbors, the prince and his associates, 
paid us a visit. We treated them with the 
best fare we had, having till this time preserved 
our spirituous liquors. They left us with 
perfect cordiality and cheerfulness, wishing us 
a good repose, and retired to their own camp. 
Having a band of music with them, consisting 
of a drum, flutes, and a rattle-gourd, they 
entertained us during the night with their 
music, vocal and instrumental. 

" There is a languishing softness and melan- 
choly air in the Indian convivial songs, espe- 
cially of the amorous class, irresistibl} T moving 
attention, and exquisitely pleasing, especially 
in their solitary recesses, when all Nature is 
silent." 

Travellers who have been among them, in 
more recent times, before they had embarked 
in their present desperate struggle, represent 
them in much the same light ; as leading a 
pleasant, indolent life, in a climate that re- 
quired little shelter or clothing, and where the 
spontaneous fruits of the earth furnished sub- 
sistence without toil. A cleanly race, delight- 
ing in bathing, passing much of their time 
under the shade of their trees, with heaps of 
oranges and other fine fruits for their refresh- 
ment ; talking, laughing, dancing, and sleep- 



Gbe Seminoles 



323 



ing. Eveiy chief had a fan hanging to his 
side, made of feathers of the wild turkey, the 
beautiful pink-colored crane, or the scarlet 
flamingo. With this he would sit and fan 
himself with great stateliness, while the young 
people danced before him. The women joined 
in the dances with the men, excepting the war- 
dances. They wore strings of tortoise-shells 
and pebbles round their legs, which rattled in 
cadence to the music. They were treated with 
more attention among the Seminoles than 
among most Indian tribes. 




OviQtn of tbe TKIlbite, tbe Ktefc, an& tbe 
JBlacF? /IDen, 

SEMINOLE TRADITION. 

WHEN the Floridas were erected into 
a territory of the United States, 
one of the earliest cares of the 
Governor, William P. Duval, was 
directed to the instruction and civilization of 
the natives. For this purpose he called a 
meeting of the chiefs, in which he informed 
them of the wish of their Great Father at 
Washington that they should have schools 
and teachers among them, and that their chil- 
dren should be instructed like the children of 
white men. The chiefs listened with their 
customary silence and decorum to a long 
speech, setting forth the advantages that 
would accrue to them from this measure, and 
when he had concluded, begged the interval 
of a day, to deliberate on it. 
On the following day a solemn convoca- 
324 



TKHbite, IRefc, anD JBlacfc /Oben 325 

tion was held, at which one of the chiefs 
addressed the Governor in the name of all the 
rest. " My brother," said he, " we have been 
thinking over the proposition of our Great 
Father at Washington, to send teachers and 
set up schools among us. We are very thank- 
ful for the interest he takes in our welfare ; 
but after much deliberation have concluded to 
decline his offer. What will do very well for 
white men, will not do for red men. I know 
you white men say we all come from the same 
father and mother, but you are mistaken . We 
have a tradition handed down from our fore- 
fathers, and we believe it, that the Great 
Spirit, when he undertook to make men, made 
the black man ; it was his first attempt, and 
pretty well for a beginning ; but he soon saw 
he had bungled ; so he determined to try his 
hand again. He did so, and made the red 
man. He liked him much better than the 
black man, but still he was not exactly what 
he wanted. So he tried once more, and made 
the white man ; and then he was satisfied. 
You see, therefore, that you were made last, 
and that is the reason I call you my youngest 
brother. 

" When the Great Spirit had made the three 
men, he called them together and showed them 
three boxes. The first was filled with books, 



326 Stories ano Xesenos 



and maps, and papers ; the second with bows 
and arrows, knives and tomahawks ; the third 
with spades, axes, hoes, and hammers. l These, 
my sons, ' said he, ' are the means by which 
you are to live ; choose among them according 
to your fancy. ' 

"The white man, being the favorite, had 
the first choice. He passed by the box of 
working-tools without notice ; but when he 
came to the weapons for war and hunting, he 
stopped and looked hard at theim The red 
man trembled, for he had set his heart upon 
that box. The white man, however, after 
looking upon it for a moment, passed on, and 
chose the box of books and papers. The red 
man's turn came next, and you may be sure 
he seized with joy upon the bows and arrows 
and tomahawks. As to the black man, he 
had no choice left, but to put up with the box 
of tools. 

" From this it is clear that the Great Spirit 
intended the white man should learn to read 
and write, to understand all about the moon 
and stars, and to make everything, even rum 
and whiskey. That the red man should be a 
first-rate hunter, and a mighty warrior, but he 
was not to learn anything from books, as the 
Great Spirit had not given him any ; nor was 
he to make rum and whiskey, lest he should 



TKHbite, IRefc, and JBlacn /Ifccn 327 

kill himself with drinking. As to the black 
man, as he had nothing but working-tools, it 
was clear he was to work for the white and 
red man, which he has continued to do. 

1 ' We must go according to the wishes of 
the Great Spirit, or we shall get into trouble. 
To know how to read and write is very good 
for white men, but very bad for red men. It 
makes white men better, but red men worse. 
Some of the Creeks and Cherokees learnt to 
read and write, and they are the greatest rascals 
among all the Indians. They went on to 
Washington, and said they were going to see 
their Great Father, to talk about the good of 
the nation. And when they got there, they 
all wrote upon a little piece of paper, without 
the nation at home knowing anything about 
it. And the first thing the nation at home 
knew of the matter, they were called together 
by the Indian agent, who showed them a 
little piece of paper, which he told them was 
a treaty which their brethren had made in 
their name with their Great Father at Wash- 
ington. And as they knew not what a treaty 
was, he held up the little piece of paper, and 
they looked under it, and lo ! it covered a great 
extent of country, and they found that their 
brethren, by knowing how to read and write, 
had sold their houses, arid their lands, and 



328 



Stories anD Xegenos 



the graves of their fathers ; and that the white 
man, by knowing how to read and write, had 
gained them. Tell our Great Father at Wash- 
ington, therefore, that we are very sorry we 
cannot receive teachers among us ; for reading 
and writing, though very good for white men,, 
is very bad for Indians. ' ' 




Ubc Conspiracy of tfleamatfola. 



AN AUTHENTIC SKETCH. 



{N the autumn of 1823, Governor Duval, and 
other commissioners on the part of the 
United States, concluded a treaty with the 
chiefs and warriors of the Florida Indians, 
by which the latter, for certain considerations, 
ceded all claims to the whole territory, except- 
ing a district in the eastern part, to which 
they were to remove, and within which they 
were to reside for twenty years. Several of 
the chiefs signed the treaty with great reluc- 
tance ; but none opposed it more strongly than 
Neamathla s principal chief of the Miekasook- 
ies, a fierce and warlike people, many of them 
Creeks by origin, who lived about the Mick- 
asookie lake. Neamathla had always been 
active in those depredations on the frontiers 
of Georgia, which had brought vengeance 
and ruin on the Seminoles. He was a remark- 
able man ; upward of sixty years of age, 
329 



33o Stories ano %eQenbs 



about six feet high, with a fine eye, and a 
strongly marked countenance, over which he 
possessed great command. His hatred of the 
white men appeared to be mixed with con- 
tempt ; on the common people he looked down 
with infinite scorn. He seemed unwilling to 
acknowledge any superiority of rank or dignity 
in Governor Duval, claiming to associate with 
him on terms of equality, as two great chief- 
tains. Though he had been prevailed upon 
to sign the treaty, his heart revolted at it. 
In one of his frank conversations with Gov- 
ernor Duval, he observed : ' ' This country 
belongs to the red man ; and if I had the 
number of warriors at my command that this 
nation once had, I would not leave a white 
man on my lands. I would exterminate the 
whole. I can say this to you, for you can 
understand me ; you are a man ; but I would 
not say it to your people. They 'd cry out I 
was a savage, and would take my life. They 
cannot appreciate the feelings of a man that 
loves his country. ' ' 

As Florida had but recently been erected 
into a territory, everything as yet was in rude 
and simple style. The Governor, to make 
himself acquainted with the Indians, and to 
be near at hand to keep an eye upon them, 
lxed his residence at Tallahassee, near the 



Conspiracy of Heamatbla 331 

Fowel towns, inhabited by the Mickasookies. 
His government palace for a time was a mere 
log-house, and he lived on hunter's fare. The 
village of Neamathla was but about three miles 
off, and thither the Governor occasionally rode, 
to visit the old chieftain. In one of these visits 
he found Neamathla seated in his wigwam, in 
the centre of the village, surrounded by his 
warriors. The Governor had brought him 
some liquor as a present, but it mounted 
quickly into his brain, and rendered him quite 
boastful and belligerent. The theme ever 
uppermost in his mind was the treaty with 
the whites. " It was true," he said, " the red 
men had made such a treaty, but the white 
men had not acted up to it. The red men had 
received none of the money and the cattle that 
had been promised them ; the treaty, there- 
fore, was at an end, and they did not mean to 
be bound by it. ' ' 

Governor Duval calmly represented to him 
that the time appointed in the treaty for the 
payment and delivery of the money and the 
cattle had not yet arrived. This the old chief- 
tain knew full well, but he chose, for the 
moment, to pretend ignorance. He kept on 
drinking and talking, his voice growing louder 
and louder, until it resounded all over the vil- 
lage. He held in his hand a long knife, with 



332 Stories ano ILegenos 



which he had been rasping tobacco ; this he 
kept flourishing backward and forward, as he 
talked, by way of giving effect to his words, 
brandishing it at times within an inch of the 
Governor's throat. He concluded his tirade 
by repeating that the country belonged to the 
red men, and that sooner than give it up, his 
bones and the bones of his people should bleach 
upon its soil. 

Duval knew that the object of all this blus- 
ter was to see whether he could be intimidated. 
He kept his eye, therefore, fixed steadily on 
the chief, and the moment he concluded with 
his menace, seized him by the bosom of his 
hunting-shirt, and clenching his other fist : 

" I 've heard what you have said," replied 
he. "You made a treaty, yet you say your 
bones shall bleach before you comply with it. 
As sure as there is a sun in heaven, your bones 
shall bleach if you do not fulfil every article of 
that treaty ! I '11 let you know that I am first 
here, and will see that you do your duty." 

Upon this the old chieftain threw himself 
back, burst into a fit of laughing, and declared 
that all he had said was in joke. The Gov- 
ernor suspected, however, that there was a 
grave meaning at the bottom of this jocularity. 

For two months everything went on smooth- 
ly ; the Indians repaired daily to the log-cabin 



Conspiracy of IRcamatbla 333 

palace of the Governor at Tallahassee, and ap- 
peared perfectly contented. All at once they 
ceased their visits, and for three or four days 
not one was to be seen. Governor Duval 
began to apprehend that some mischief was 
brewing. On the evening of the fourth day, 
a chief named Yellow-Hair, a resolute, intelli- 
gent fellow, who had always evinced an attach- 
ment for the Governor, entered his cabin about 
twelve o'clock at night, and informed him, 
that between four and five hundred warriors, 
painted and decorated, were assembled to hold 
a secret war- talk at Neamathla's town. He 
had slipped off to give intelligence, at the risk 
of his life, and hastened back lest his absence 
should be discovered. 

Governor Duval passed an anxious night 
after this intelligence. He knew the talent 
and the daring character of Neamathla ; he 
recollected the threats he had thrown out ; he 
reflected that about eighty white families were 
scattered widely apart over a great extent of 
country, and might be swept away at once, 
should the Indians, as he feared, determine to 
clear the country. That he did not exagger- 
ate the dangers of the case, has been proved 
by the horrid scenes of Indian warfare which 
have since desolated that devoted region. 
After a night of sleepless cogitation, Duval 



334 Storiee an& ILecjenfcs 



determined on a measure suited to his prompt 
and resolute character. Knowing the admira- 
tion of the savages for personal courage, he 
determined, by a sudden surprise, to endeavor 
to overawe and check them. It was hazarding 
much ; but where so many lives were in jeop- 
ardy, he felt bound to incur the hazard. 

Accordingly, on the next morning, he set 
off on horseback, attended merely by a white 
man, who had been reared among the Semi- 
noles, and understood their language and man- 
ners, and who acted as interpreter. They 
struck into an Indian "trail," leading to Nea- 
mathla's village. After proceeding about half 
a mile, Governor Duval informed the inter- 
preter of the object of his expedition. The 
latter, though a bold man, paused and remon- 
strated. The Indians among whom they were 
going were among the most desperate and dis- 
contented of the nation. Many of them were 
veteran warriors, impoverished and exasper- 
ated by defeat, and ready to set their lives at 
any hazard. He said that if they were hold- 
ing a war-council, it must be with desperate 
intent, and it would be certain death to intrude 
among them. 

Duval made light of his apprehensions ; he 
said he was perfectly well acquainted with the 
Indian character, and should certainly proceed. 



Conspiracy of Ifteamatbla 335 

So saying,, he rode on. When within half a 
mile of the village, the interpreter addressed 
him again in such a tremulous tone, that Duval 
turned and looked him in the face. He was 
deadly pale, and once more urged the Governor 
to return, as they would certainly be massacred 
if they proceeded. 

Duval repeated his determination to go on, 
but advised the other to return, lest his pale 
face should betray fear to the Indians, and 
they might take advantage of it. The inter- 
preter replied that he would rather die a thou- 
sand deaths than have it said he had deserted 
his leader when in peril. 

Duval then told him he must translate faith- 
fully all he should say to the Indians, without 
softening a word. The interpreter promised 
faithfully to do so, adding that he well knew, 
when they were once in the town, nothing but 
boldness could save them. 

They now rode into the village and advanced 
to the council-house. This was rather a group 
of four houses, forming a square, in the centre 
of which was a great council-fire. The houses 
were open in front toward the fire, and closed 
in the rear. At each corner of the square 
there was an interval between the houses for 
ingress and egress. In these houses sat the 
old men and the chiefs ; the young men were 



336 Stories ano Xegenos 



gathered round the fire. Neamathla presided 
at the council, elevated on a higher seat than 
the rest. 

Governor Duval entered by one of the cor- 
ner intervals, and rode boldly into the centre 
of the square. The young men made way for 
him ; an old man who was speaking, paused 
in the midst of his harangue. In an instant 
thirty or forty rifles were cocked and levelled. 
Never had Duval heard so loud a click of trig- 
gers ; it seemed to strike to his heart. He 
gave one glance at the Indians, and turned off 
with an air of contempt. He did not dare, he 
says, to look again, lest it might affect his 
nerves, and on the firmness of his nerves every- 
thing depended. 

The chief threw up his arm. The rifles 
were lowered. Duval breathed more freely ; 
he felt disposed to leap from his horse, but re- 
strained himself, and dismounted leisurely. 
He then walked deliberately up to Neamathla, 
and demanded, in an authoritative tone, what 
were his motives for holding that council. 
The moment he made this demand, the orator 
sat down. The chief made no reply, but hung 
his head in apparent confusion. After a mo- 
ment's pause, Duval proceeded : 

" I am well aware of the meaning of this 



Conapkacg of IReamatbla 337 

war-council, and deem it my duty to warn you 
against prosecuting the schemes you have been 
devising. If a single hair of a white man in 
this country falls to the ground, I will hang 
you and your chiefs on the trees around your 
council-house ! You cannot pretend to with- 
stand the power of the white men. You are 
in the palm of the hand of your Great Father 
at Washington, who can crush you like an 
egg-shell ! You may kill me ; I am but one 
man ; but recollect, white men are numerous 
as the leaves on the trees. Remember the fate 
of your warriors whose bones are whitening in 
battlefields. Remember your wives and chil- 
dren who perished in swamps. Do you want 
to provoke more hostilities? Another war 
with the white men, and there will not be a 
Seminole left to tell the story of his race." 

Seeing the effect of his words, he concluded 
by appointing a day for the Indians to meet 
him at St. Mark's and give an account of their 
conduct. He then rode off, without giving 
them time to recover from their surprise. 
That night he rode forty miles to Appalachicola 
River, to the tribe of the same name, who were 
in feud with the Seminoles. They promptly 
put two hundred and fifty w T arriors at his dis- 
posal, whom he ordered to be at St. Mark's at 



338 Stories ano XegenDs 



the appointed day. He sent out runners also, 
and mustered one hundred of the militia to re- 
pair to the same place, together with a number 
of regulars from the army. All his arrange- 
ments were successful. 

Having taken these measures, he returned to 
Tallahassee, to the neighborhood of the con- 
spirators, to show them that he was not afraid. 
Here he ascertained, through Yellow- Hair, 
that nine towns were disaffected, and had been 
concerned in the conspiracy. He was careful 
to inform himself, from the same source, of the 
names of the warriors in each of those towns 
who were most popular, though poor and des- 
titute of rank and command. 

When the appointed day was at hand for the 
meeting at St. Mark's, Governor Duval set off 
with Neamathla, who was at the head of eight 
or nine hundred warriors, but who feared to 
venture into the fort without him. As they 
entered the fort, and saw troops and militia 
drawn up there, and a force of Appalachicola 
soldiers stationed on the opposite bank of the 
river, they thought they were betrayed, and 
were about to fly, but Duval assured them they 
were safe, and that when the talk was over 
they might go home unmolested. 

A grand talk was now held, in which the 
late conspiracy was discussed. As he had 



Conspiracy ot BeamatbCa 339 

foreseen, Neamathla and the other old chiefs 
threw all the blame upon the young men. 
11 Well," replied Duval, " with us white men, 
when we find a man incompetent to govern 
those under him, we put him down and ap- 
point another in his place. Now, as you all 
acknowledge you cannot manage your young 
men, we must put chiefs over them who can." 
So saying, he deposed Neamathla first, ap- 
pointing another in his place ; and so on with 
all the rest, taking care to substitute the war- 
riors who had been pointed out to him as poor 
and popular ; putting medals round their 
necks, and investing them with great cere- 
mony. The Indians w T ere surprised and de- 
lighted at finding the appointments fall upon 
the very men they would themselves have 
chosen, and hailed them with acclamations. 
The warriors thus unexpectedly elevated to 
command, and clothed with dignity, were se- 
cured to the interests of the Governor, and 
sure to keep an eye on the disaffected. As to 
the great chief Neamathla, he left the country 
in disgust, and returned to the Creek Nation, 
who elected him a chief of one of their towns. 
Thus by the resolute spirit and prompt sagac- 
ity of one man, a dangerous conspiracy was 
completely defeated. Governor Duval was 
afterwards enabled to remove the whole nation, 



34° Stories ano Xegenos 



through his own personal influence, without 
the aid of the General Government. 

Note. — The foregoing anecdotes concerning the 
Seminoles were gathered in conversation with Gov- 
ernor Duval (the original of Raiph Ringwood). 




TTbe Count Wan torn. 

DURING the minority of Louis XV., 
while the Duke of Orleans was 
Regent of France, a young Flemish 
nobleman, the Count Antoine Joseph 
Van Horn, made his sudden appearance in 
Paris, and by his character, conduct, and the 
subsequent disasters in which he became in- 
volved, created a great sensation in the high 
circles of the proud aristocracy. He was 
about twenty-two years of age, tall, finely 
formed, with a pale, romantic countenance, 
and eyes of remarkable brilliancy and wildness. 
He was one of the most ancient and highly 
esteemed families of European nobility, being 
of the line of the Princes of Horn and Overique, 
sovereign Counts of Hautekerke, and heredi- 
tary Grand Veneurs of the empire. 

The family took its name from the little town 
and seigneurie of Horn, in Brabant ; and was 
known as early as the eleventh century among 
341 



342 Stories ano Xegenos 



the little dynasties of the Netherlands, and 
since that time, by a long line of illustrious 
generations. At the peace of Utrecht, when 
the Netherlands passed under subjection to 
Austria, the house of Van Horn came under 
the domination of the Emperor. At the time 
we treat of, two of the branches of this ancient 
house were extinct ; the third and only sur- 
viving branch was represented by the reign- 
ing prince, Maximilian Emanuel Van Horn, 
twenty-four years of age, who resided in 
honorable and courtly style on his hereditary 
domains at Baussignj^, in the Netherlands, and 
his brother, the Count Antoine Joseph, who 
is the subject of this memoir. 

The ancient house of Van Horn, by the 
intermarriage of its various branches with the 
noble families of the Continent, had become 
widely connected and interwoven with the 
high aristocracy of Europe. The Count An- 
toine, therefore, could claim relationship to 
many of the proudest names in Paris. In fact, 
he was grandson, by the mother's side, of the 
Prince de Eigne, and even might boast of af- 
finity to the Regent (the Duke of Orleans) 
himself. There were circumstances, however, 
connected with his sudden appearance in 
Paris, and his previous story, that placed him 
in what is termed "a false position " ; a word 



Gbe Count Dan 1born 343 



of baleful significance in the fashionable vocab- 
ulary of France. 

The young Count had been captain in the 
service of Austria, but had been cashiered for 
irregular conduct, and for disrespect to Prince 
Louis of Baden, commander-in-chief. To 
check him in his wild career, and bring him 
to sober reflection, his brother the Prince 
caused him to be arrested, and sent to the old 
castle of Van Wert, in the domains of Horn. 
This was the same castle in which, in former 
times, John Van Horn, Stadtholder of Guel- 
dres, had imprisoned his father ; a circumstance 
which has furnished Rembrandt with the sub- 
ject of an admirable painting. The governor 
of the castle was one Van Wert, grandson of 
the famous John Van Wert, the hero of many 
a popular song and legend. It was the in- 
tention of the Prince that his brother should 
be held in honorable durance, for his object 
was to sober and improve, not to punish and 
afflict him. Van Wert, however, was a stern, 
harsh man, of violent passions. He treated the 
youth in a manner that prisoners and offenders 
were treated in the strongholds of the robber 
counts of Germany in old times ; confined him 
in a dungeon, and inflicted on him such hard- 
ships and indignities, that the irritable tempera- 
ment of the young count was roused to con- 



344 Stories and %cgcr\^s 



tinual fury, which ended in insanity. For six 
months was the unfortunate youth kept in this 
horrible state, without his brother the Prince 
being informed of his melancholy condition, or 
of the cruel treatment to which he was sub- 
jected. At length, one day, in a paroxysm of 
frenzy, the Count knocked down two of his 
jailers with a beetle, escaped from the castle 
of Van Wert, and eluded all pursuit ; and after 
roving about in a state of distraction, made his 
way to Baussigny, and appeared like a spectre 
before his brother. 

The Prince was shocked at his wretched, 
emaciated appearance, and his lamentable state 
of mental alienation. He received him with 
the most compassionate tenderness, lodged him 
in his own room, appointed three servants to 
attend and watch over him day and night, and 
endeavored, by the most soothing and affection- 
ate assiduity, to atone for the past act of rigor, 
with which he reproached himself. When he 
learned, however, the manner in which his un- 
fortunate brother had been treated in confine- 
ment, and the course of brutalities that had led 
to his mental malady, he was aroused to indig- 
nation. His first step was to cashier Van Wert 
from his command. That violent man set the 
Prince at defiance, and attempted to maintain 
himself in his government and his castle, by 



Gbe Count Wan 1born 345 



instigating the peasants, for several leagues 
round, to revolt. His insurrection might have 
been formidable against the power of a petty 
prince ; but he was put under the ban of the 
empire, and seized as a state prisoner. The 
memory of his grandfather, the oft-sung John 
Van Wert, alone saved him from a gibbet ; 
but he was imprisoned in the strong tower of 
Hornop-Zee. There he remained until he was 
eighty-two years of age, savage, violent, and 
unconquered to the last ; for we are told that 
he never ceased fighting and thumping as long 
as he could close a fist or wield a cudgel. 

In the meantime, a course of kind and gen- 
tle treatment and wholesome regimen, and, 
above all, the tender and affectionate assidu- 
ity of his brother the Prince, produced the 
most salutary effects upon Count Antoine. 
He gradually recovered his reason ; but a 
degree of violence seemed alwa3^s lurking at 
the bottom of his charcter, and he required to 
be treated with the greatest caution and mild- 
ness, for the least contradiction exasperated 
him. 

In this state of mental convalescence he be- 
gan to find the supervision and restraints of 
brotherly affection insupportable ; so he left 
the Netherlands furtively, and repaired to 
Paris, whither, in fact, it is said he was called 



346 Stories ano Xegencs 



by motives of interest, to make arrangements 
concerning a valuable estate which he inher- 
ited from his relative the Princess d'Epinay. 

On his arrival in Paris, he called upon the 
Marquis of Crequi, and other of the high no- 
bility with whom he was connected. He was 
received with great courtesy ; but, as he 
brought no letters from his elder brother, the 
Prince, and as various circumstances of his 
previous history had transpired, they did not 
receive him into their families, nor introduce 
him to their ladies. Still they feted him in 
bachelor style, gave him gay and elegant sup- 
pers at their separate apartments, and took 
him to their boxes at the theatres. He was 
often noticed, too, at the doors of the most 
fashionable churches, taking his stand among 
the young men of fashion ; and at such times 
his tall, elegant figure, his pale but handsome 
countenance, and his flashing eyes, distin- 
guished him from among the crowd, and the 
ladies declared that it was almost impossible 
to support his ardent gaze. 

The Count did not afflict himself much at 
his limited circulation in the fastidious circles 
of the high aristocrac}'. He relished society 
of a wilder and less ceremonious cast ; and 
meeting with loose companions to his taste, 
soon ran into all the excesses of the capital, in 



Gbe Count Wan 1born 347 



that most licentious period. It is said that, 
in the course of his wild career, he had an 
intrigue with a lady of quality, a favorite of 
the Regent, that he was surprised by that 
prince in one of his interviews, that sharp 
words passed between them, and that the jeal- 
ousy and vengeance thus awakened ended only 
with his life. 

About this time, the famous Mississippi 
scheme of Law was at its height, or rather it 
began to threaten that disastrous catastrophe 
which convulsed the whole financial world. 
Every effort was making to keep the bubble 
inflated. The vagrant population of France 
was swept off from the streets at night, and 
conveyed to Havre de Grace, to be shipped to 
the projected colonies ; even laboring people 
and mechanics were thus crimped and spirited 
away. As Count Antoine was in the habit of 
sallying forth at night, in disguise, in pursuit 
of his pleasures, he came near being carried 
off by a gang of crimps ; it seemed, in fact, 
as if they had been lying in wait for him, as 
he had experienced very rough treatment at 
their hands. Complaint was made of his case 
by his relation, the Marquis de Crequi, who 
took much interest in the youth ; but the Mar- 
quis received mysterious intimations not to 
interfere in the matter, but to advise the Count 



34S Stories and TLegewbs 



to quit Paris immediately : " If he lingers he 
is lost ! ' ' This has been cited as a proof that 
vengeance was dogging at the heels of the 
unfortunate youth, and only watching for an 
opportunit}^ to destroy him. 

Such opportunity occurred but too soon. 
Among the loose companions with whom the 
Count had become intimate, were two who 
lodged in the same hotel with him. One was 
a youth only twenty years of age, who passed 
himself off as the Chevalier d'Etampes, but 
whose real name was Lestang, the prodigal son 
of a Flemish banker. The other, named Lau- 
rent de Mille, a Piedmontese, was a cashiered 
captain, and at the time an esquire in the ser- 
vice of the dissolute Princess de Carignan, who 
kept gambling-tables in her palace. It is prob- 
able that gambling propensities had brought 
these young men together, and that their losses 
had driven them to desperate measures ; cer- 
tain it is, that all Paris was suddenly astounded 
by a murder which they were said to have com- 
mitted. What made the crime more startling, 
was, that it seemed connected with the great 
Mississippi scheme, at that time the fruitful 
source of all kinds of panics and agitations. 
A Jew, a stock-broker, who dealt largely in 
shares of the bank of Law, founded on the "Mis- 
sissippi scheme, was the victim. The story of 



Zbe Count Dan 1born 349 



his death is variously related. The darkest 
account states, that the Jew was decoyed by 
these young men into an obscure tavern, under 
pretext of negotiating with him for bank shares, 
to the amount of one hundred thousand crowns, 
which he had with him in his pocket-book. 
Lestang kept watch upon the stairs. The 
Count and De Mille entered with the Jew into 
a chamber. In a little while there were heard 
cries and struggles from within. A waiter 
passing by the room, looked in, and seeing the 
Jew weltering in his blood, shut the door again, 
double-locked it, and alarmed the house. I,e- 
stang rushed down stairs, made his way to the 
hotel, secured his most portable effects, and 
fled the country. The Count and De Mille en- 
deavored to escape by the window, but were 
both taken, and conducted to prison. 

A circumstance which occurs in this part of 
the Count's story, seems to point him out as a 
fated man. His mother, and his brother, the 
Prince Van Horn, had received intelligence 
some time before, at Baussigny, of the dissolute 
life the Count was leading at Paris, and of. his 
losses at play. They despatched a gentleman 
of the Prince's household to Paris, to pay the 
debts of the Count, and persuade him to return 
to Flanders ; or, if he should refuse, to obtain 
an order from the Regent for him to quit the 



35o Stories ano Xeaenos 



capital. Unfortunately the gentleman did not 
arrive at Paris until the day after the murder. 
The news of the Count's arrest and imprison- 
ment, on a charge of murder, caused a violent 
sensation among the high aristocracy. All 
those connected with him, who had treated 
him hitherto with indifference, found their 
dignity deeply involved in the question of 
his guilt or innocence. A general convocation 
was held at the hotel of the Marquis de Crequi, 
of all the relatives and allies of the house of 
Horn. It was an assemblage of the most proud 
and aristocratic personages of Paris. Inquiries 
were made into the circumstances of the affair. 
It was ascertained beyond a doubt, that the Jew 
was dead, and that he had been killed by sev- 
eral stabs of a poniard. In escaping by the 
window, it was said that the Count had fallen, 
and been immediately taken ; but that De 
Mille had fled through the streets, pursued by 
the populace, and had been arrested at some 
distance from the scene of the murder ; that 
the Count had declared himself innocent of the 
death of the Jew, and that he had risked his 
own life in endeavoring to protect him ; but 
that De Mille, on being brought back to the 
tavern, confessed to a plot to murder the bro- 
ker, and rob him of his pocket-book, and incul- 
pated the Count in the crime. 



Gbe Count IDan 1born 351 



Another version of the story was, that the 
Count Van Horn had deposited with the bro- 
ker bank shares to the amount of eighty-eight 
thousand livres ; that he had sought him in 
this tavern, which was one of his resorts, and 
had demanded the shares ; that the Jew had 
denied the deposit; that a quarrel had ensued, in 
the course of which the Jew struck the Count 
in the face; that the latter, transported with 
rage, had snatched up a knife from a table and 
wounded the Jew in the shoulder ; and that 
thereupon De Mille, who was present, and who 
had likewise been defrauded by the broker, fell 
on him, and despatched him with blows of a 
poniard, and seized upon his pocket-book ; 
that he had offered to divide the contents of the 
latter with the Count, pro rata, of what the 
usurer had defrauded them ; that the latter had 
refused the proposition with disdain ; and that, 
at a noise of persons approaching, both had 
attempted to escape from the premises, but had 
been taken. 

Regard the story in any way they might, 
appearances were terribly against the Count, 
and the noble assemblage was in great conster- 
nation. What was to be done to ward off so 
foul a disgrace and to save their illustrious 
escutcheons from this murderous stain of 
blood ? Their first attempt was to prevent the 



352 Stories anD ILegenos 



affair from going to trial, and their relative 
from being dragged before a criminal tribunal, 
on so horrible and degrading a charge. They 
applied therefore, to the Regent, to intervene 
his power, to treat the Count as having acted 
under an access of his mental malady, and to 
shut him up in a madhouse. The Regent was 
deaf to their solicitations. He replied, coldly, 
that if the Count was a madman, one could not 
get rid too quickly of madmen who were furi- 
ous in their insanity. The crime was too pub- 
lic and atrocious to be hushed up, or slurred 
over ; justice must take its course. 

Seeing there was no avoiding the humiliating 
scene of a public trial, the noble relatives of the 
Count endeavored to predispose the minds of 
the magistrates before whom he was to be ar- 
raigned. They accordingly made urgent and 
eloquent representations of the high descent, 
and noble and powerful connections of the 
Count ; set forth the circumstances of his early 
history, his mental malady, the nervous irrita- 
bility to which he was subject, and his extreme 
sensitiveness to insult or contradiction. By 
these means they sought to prepare the judges 
to interpret every thing in favor of the Count ; 
and, even if it should prove that he had inflicted 
the mortal blow on the usurer, to attribute it 
to access of insanity provoked by insult. 



Zbe Count IDan 1born 353 



To give full effect to these representations, 
the noble conclave determined to bring upon 
the judges the dazzling rays of the whole 
assembled aristocracy. Accordingly, on the 
day that the trial took place, the relations of 
the Count, to the number of fifty-seven persons, 
of both sexes and of the highest rank, repaired 
in a bod}' to the Palace of Justice, and took 
their stations in a long corridor which led to the 
court-room. Here, as the judges entered, they 
had to pass in review this array of lofty and 
noble personages, who saluted them mournfully 
and significantly as they passed. Any one 
conversant with the stately pride and jealous 
dignity of the French noblesse of that day, 
may imagine the extreme state of sensitiveness 
that produced this self-abasement. It was 
confidently presumed, however, by the noble 
suppliants, that having once brought them- 
seves to this measure, their influence over the 
tribunal would be irresistible. There was one 
lady present, however, Madame de Beauffre- 
mont, who was affected with the Scottish gift 
of second sight, and related such dismal and 
sinister apparitions as passing before her eyes, 
that many of her female companions were filled 
with doleful presentiments. 

Unfortunately for the Count, there was an- 
other interest at work, more powerful even 
23 



354 Stories ano 5LegenDs 



than the high aristocracy. The infamous but 
all-potent Abbe Dubois, the grand favorite and 
bosom counsellor of the Regent, was deeply in- 
terested in the scheme of Law and the prosperity 
of his bank, and of course in the security of the 
stock-brokers. Indeed, the Regent himself is 
said to have dipped deep in the Mississippi 
scheme. Dubois and Law, therefore, exerted 
their influence to the utmost to have the tragic 
affair pushed to the extremity of the law, and 
the murderer of the broker punished in the 
most signal and appalling manner. Certain 
it is, the trial was neither long nor intricate. 
The Count and his fellow-prisoner were 
equally inculpated in the crime, and both 
were condemned to a death the most horrible 
and ignominious — to be broken alive on the 
wheel ! 

As soon as the sentence of the court was 
made public, all the nobility, in any degree 
related to the house of Van Horn, went into 
mourning. Another grand aristocratical as- 
semblage was held, and a petition to the Re- 
gent, on behalf of the Count, was drawn out 
and left with the Marquis de Crequi for signa- 
ture. This petition set forth the previous in- 
sanity of the Count, and showed that it was an 
hereditary malady in his family. It stated va- 
rious circumstances in mitigation of his offence, 



Gbe Count Wan tborn 355 



and implored that his sentence might be com- 
muted to perpetual imprisonment. 

Upward of fifty names of the highest nobility, 
beginning with the Prince de Iyigne, and in- 
cluding cardinals, archbishops, dukes, mar- 
quises, etc., together with ladies of equal rank, 
were signed to this petition. By one of the 
caprices of human pride and vanity, it became 
an object of ambition to get enrolled among 
the illustrious suppliants ; a kind of testimonial 
of noble blood, to prove relationship to a mur- 
derer ! The Marquis de Crequi was absolutely 
besieged by applicants to sign, and had to re- 
fer their claims to this singular honor to the 
Prince de Iyigne, the grandfather of the Count. 
Many who were excluded were highly incensed, 
and numerous feuds took place. Nay, the 
affronts thus given to the morbid pride of 
some aristocratical families, passed from gen- 
eration to generation ; for, fifty years after- 
ward, the Duchess of Mazarin complained of 
a slight which her father had received from 
the Marquis de Crequi, which proved to be 
something connected with the signature of 
this petition. 

This important document being completed, 
the illustrious body of petitioners, male and 
female, on Saturday evening, the eve of Palm 
Sunday, repaired to the Palais Royal, the 



356 Stories and Xegenos 



residence of the Regent, and were ushered with 
great ceremony, but profound silence, into his 
hall of council. Thejr had appointed four of 
their number as deputies to present the petition, 
viz. : the Cardinal de Rohan, the Duke de 
Havre, the Prince de Ligne, and the Marquis 
de Crequi. After a little while, the deputies 
were summoned to the cabinet of the Regent. 
They entered, leaving the assembled petitioners 
in a state of the greatest anxiety. As time 
slowly wore away, and the evening advanced, 
the gloom of the company increased. Several 
of the ladies prayed devoutly ; the good Prin- 
cess of Armagnac told her beads. 

The petition was received by the Regent 
with a most unpropitious aspect. " In asking 
the pardon of the criminal," said he, "you 
display more zeal for the house of Van Horn 
than for the service of the King." The noble 
deputies enforced the petition by every argu- 
ment in their power. They supplicated the 
Regent to consider that the infamous punish- 
ment in question would reach not merely the 
person of the condemned, not merely the 
house of Van Horn, but also the genealogies 
of princely and illustrious families, in whose 
armorial bearings might be found quarterings 
of this dishonored name. 

"Gentlemen," replied the Regent, "it ap- 



Gbe Count Dan 1born 357 



pears to me the disgrace consists in the crime, 
rather than in the punishment." 

The Prince de I^igne spoke with warmth : 
11 I have in my genealogical standard," said 
he, "four escutcheons of Van Horn, and of 
course have four ancestors of that house. I 
must have them erased and effaced, and there 
would be so many blank spaces, like holes, in 
my heraldic ensigns. There is not a sovereign 
family which would not suffer through the 
rigor of your Royal Highness ; nay, all the 
world knows that in the thirty-two quarterings 
of Madame, your mother, there is an escutcheon 
of Van Horn." 

"Very well," replied the Regent, "I will 
share the disgrace with you, gentlemen." 

Seeing that a pardon could not be obtained, 
the Cardinal de Rohan and the Marquis de 
Crequi left the cabinet ; but the Prince de 
Ligne and the Duke de Havre remained behind. 
The honor of their houses, more than the life 
of the unhappy Count, was the great object of 
their solicitude. They now endeavored to ob- 
tain a minor grace. They represented that in 
the Netherlands and in Germany there was an 
important difference in the public mind as to 
the mode of inflicting the punishment of death 
upon persons of quality. That decapitation 
had no influence on the fortunes of the family 



358 Stories ano Xegenos 



of the executed, but that the punishment of the 
wheel was such an infamy, that the uncles, 
aunts, brothers, and sisters of the criminal, 
and his whole family, for three succeeding 
generations, were excluded from all noble 
chapters, princely abbeys, sovereign bishoprics, 
and even Teutonic commanderies of the Order 
of Malta. They showed how this would oper- 
ate immediately upon the fortunes of a sister 
of the Count, who was on the point of being 
received as a canoness into one of the noble 
chapters. 

While this scene was going on in the cabi- 
net of the Regent, the illustrious assemblage 
of petitioners remained in the hall of council, 
in the most gloomy state of suspense. The 
re-entrance from the cabinet of the Cardinal 
de Rohan and the Marquis de Crequi, with 
pale, downcast countenances, had struck a 
chill into every heart. Still they lingered 
until near midnight, to learn the result of the 
after application. At length the cabinet con- 
ference was at an end. The Regent came 
forth and saluted the high personages of the 
assemblage in a courtly manner. One old 
lady of quality, Madame de Guy on, whom he 
had known in his infancy, he kissed on the 
cheek, calling her his "good aunt." He 
made a most ceremonious salutation to the 



Gbe Count Dan 1born 359 



stately Marchioness de Crequi, telling her he 
was charmed to see her at the Palais Royal, 
" a compliment very ill-timed," said the Mar- 
chioness, " considering the circumstance which 
brought me there." He then conducted the 
ladies to the door of the second saloon, and 
there dismissed them, with the most ceremo- 
nious politeness. 

The application of the Prince de Ligne and 
the Duke de Havre, for a change of the mode 
of punishment, had, after much difficulty, been 
successful. The Regent had promised sol- 
emnly to send a letter of commutation to the 
attorney-general, on Holy Monday, the 25th 
of March, at 5 o'clock in the morning. Ac- 
cording to the same promise, a scaffold would 
be arranged in the cloister of the Conciergerie, 
or prison, where the Count would be beheaded 
on the same morning, immediately after hav- 
ing received absolution. This mitigation of 
the form of punishment gave but little conso- 
lation to the great body of petitioners, who 
had been anxious for the pardon of the youth ; 
it was looked upon as all-important, however, 
by the Prince de Iyigne, who, as has been 
before observed, was exquisitely alive to the 
dignity of his family. 

The Bishop of Bayeux and the Marquis de 
Crequi visited the unfortunate youth in prison. 



360 Stories ano Xegenfcs 



He had just received the communion in the 
chapel of the Conciergerie, and was kneeling 
before the altar, listening to a mass for the 
dead, which was performed at his request. 
He protested his innocence of any intention to 
murder the Jew, but did not deign to allude 
to the accusation of robbery. He made the 
Bishop and the Marquis promise to see his 
brother the Prince, and inform him of this his 
dying asseveration. 

Two other of his relations, the Prince Re- 
becq-Moutmorency and the Marshal Van Isen- 
ghien, visited him secretly, and offered him 
poison, as the means of evading the disgrace 
of a public execution. On his refusing to take 
it, they left him with high indignation. " Mis- 
erable man ! " said they, "you are fit only to 
perish by the hand of the executioner ! " 

The Marquis de Crequi sought the execu- 
tioner of Paris, to bespeak an easy and decent 
death for the unfortunate youth. "Do not 
make him suffer, ' ' said he ; ' ' uncover no part 
of him but the neck, and have his body placed 
in a coffin before you deliver it to his family." 
The executioner promised all that was re- 
quested, but declined a rouleau of a hundred 
louis-d'ors which the Marquis would have put 
into his hand. "lam paid by the King for 
fulfilling my office," said he ; and added, that 



Gbe Count Wan t>orn 361 



he had already refused a like sum offered by 
another relation of the Marquis. 

The Marquis de Crequi returned home in a 
state of deep affliction. There he found a let- 
ter from the Duke de St, Simon, the familiar 
friend of the Regent, repeating the promise of 
that Prince, that the punishment of the wheel 
should be commuted to decapitation. 

"Imagine," says the Marchioness de Cre- 
qui, who in her memoirs gives a detailed 
account of this affair, ' ' imagine what we ex- 
perienced, and what was our astonishment, 
our grief, and indignation, when, on Tuesday 
the 26th of March, an hour after midday, word 
was brought us that the Count Van Horn had 
been exposed on the wheel in the Place de 
Greve, since half-past six in the morning, on 
the same scaffold with the Piedmontese, De 
Mille, and that he had been tortured previous 
to execution ! ' ' 

One more scene of aristocratic pride closed 
this tragic story. The Marquis de Crequi, on 
receiving this astounding news, immediately 
arrayed himself in the uniform of a general 
officer, with his cordon of nobility on the coat. 
He ordered six valets to attend him in grand 
livery, and two of his carriages, each with six 
horses, to be brought forth. In this sumptu- 
ous state he set off for the Place de Greve, 



362 Stories an& Xegenos 



where he had been preceded by the Princes 
de L,igne, de Rohan, de Croiiy, and the Duke 
de Havre. 

The Count Van Horn was already dead, 
and it was believed that the executioner had 
had the charity to give him the coup de gr&ce, 
or " death-blow," at eight o'clock in the morn- 
ing. At five o'clock in the evening, when 
the Judge Commissary left his post at the 
Hotel de Ville, these noblemen, with their 
own hands, aided to detach the mutilated 
remains of their relation ; the Marquis de 
Crequi placed them in one of his carriages, 
and bore them off to his hotel, to receive the 
last sad obsequies. 

The conduct of the Regent in this affair 
excited general indignation. His needless 
severity was attributed by some to vindictive 
jealousy ; by others to the persevering machi- 
nations of L,aw and the Abbe Dubois. The 
house of Van Horn, and the high nobility of 
Flanders and Germany, considered themselves 
flagrantly outraged ; many schemes of ven- 
geance were talked of, and a hatred engendered 
against the Regent that followed him through 
life, and was wreaked with bitterness upon 
his memory after his death. 

The following letter is said to have been 
written to the Regent by the Prince Van 



1 



Gbe Count Dan 1born 



363 



Horn, to whom the former had adjudged the 
confiscated effects of the Count : — 

"I do not complain, sir, of the death of 
my brother, but I complain that your Royal 
Highness has violated in his person the rights 
of the kingdom, the nobility, and the nation. 
I thank you for the confiscation of his effects ; 
but I should think myself as much disgraced 
as he, should I accept any favor at your hands. 
/ hope that God and the King may render to 
you as strict justice as you have rendered to my 
unfortunate brother. ' ' 




Won Juan : H Spectral IResearcb. 

" I have heard of spirits walking with aerial bodies, 
and have been wondered at by others ; but I must 
only wonder at myself, for, if they be not mad, I 'me 
come to my own buriall." 

Shirley's "Witty Fairie One." 

EVERYBODY has heard of the fate of 
Don Juan, the famous libertine of Se- 
ville, who, for his sins against the fair 
sex and other minor peccadilloes, was 
hurried away to the infernal regions. His 
story has been illustrated in play, in panto- 
mime, and farce, on every stage in Christendom, 
until at length it has been rendered the theme 
of the opera of operas, and embalmed to end- 
less duration in the glorious music of Mozart. 
I well recollect the effect of this story upon 
my feelings in my boyish da3's, though repre- 
sented in grotesque pantomime ; the awe with 
which I contemplated the monumental statue 
364 



Stories ano Xegenos 365 



on horseback of the murdered commander, 
gleaming by pale moonlight in the convent 
cemetery ; how my heart quaked as he bowed 
his marble head, and accepted the impious 
invitation of Don Juan ; how each footfall 
of the statue smote upon my heart, as I heard 
it approach, step by step, through the echoing 
corridor, and beheld it enter, and advance, a 
moving figure of stone, to the supper- table ! 
But then the convivial scene in the charnel- 
house, where Don Juan returned the visit of 
the statue, was offered a banquet of skulls and 
bones, and on refusing to partake, was hurled 
into a yawning gulf under a tremendous 
shower of fire ! These were accumulated 
horrors enough to shake the nerves of the 
most pantomime-loving school-boy. Many 
have supposed the story of Don Juan a mere 
fable. I myself thought so once ; but ' ' seeing 
is believing. ' ' I have since beheld the very 
scene where it took place, and now to indulge 
any doubt on the subject, would be prepos- 
terous. 

I was one night perambulating the streets 
of Seville, in company with a Spanish friend, a 
curious investigator of the popular traditions 
and other good-for-nothing lore of the city, and 
who was kind enough to imagine he had met, 
in me, with a congenial spirit. In the course 



366 Won 5uan 



of our rambles, we were passing by a heavy 
dark gateway, opening into the courtyard of 
a convent, when he laid his hand upon my 
arm : " Stop ! " said he ; " this is the convent 
of San Francisco ; there is a story connected 
with it, which I am sure must be known to 
you. You cannot but have heard of Don Juan 
and the marble statue." 

"Undoubtedly," replied I; "it has been 
familiar to me from childhood." 

"Well, then, it was in the cemetery of this 
convent that the events took place." 

"Why, you do not mean to say that the 
story is founded on fact ? ' ' 

1 ' Undoubtedly it is. The circumstances of 
the case are said to have occurred during the 
reign of Alfonso XI. Don Juan was of the 
noble family of Tenorio, one of the most illus- 
trious houses of Andalusia. His father, Don 
Diego Tenorio, was a favorite of the King, and 
his family ranked among the veintecuatros , or 
magistrates, of the city. Presuming on his 
high descent and powerful connections, Don 
Juan set no bounds to his excesses ; no female, 
high or low, was sacred from his pursuit ; and 
he soon became the scandal of Seville. One 
of his most daring outrages was, to penetrate 
by night into the palace of Don Gonzalo de 
Ulloa, Commander of the Order of Calatrava, 



Stories ano 3Legenos 367 



and attempt to carry off his daughter. The 
household was alarmed ; a scuffle in the dark 
took place ; Don Juan escaped, but the unfortu- 
nate commander was found weltering in his 
blood, and expired without being able to name 
his murderer. Suspicions attached to Don 
Juan ; he did not stop to meet the investiga- 
tions of justice and the vengeance of the power- 
ful family of Ulloa, but fled from Seville, and 
took refuge with his uncle, Don Pedro Tenorio, 
at that time ambassador at the court of Naples. 
Here he remained until the agitation occasioned 
by the murder of Don Gonzalo had time to 
subside ; and the scandal which the affair 
might cause to both the families of Ulloa and 
Tenorio had induced them to hush it up. Don 
Juan, however, continued his libertine career 
at Naples, until at length his excesses forfeited 
the protection of his uncle the ambassador, and 
obliged him again to flee. He had made his 
way back to Seville, trusting that his past mis- 
deeds were forgotten, or rather trusting to his 
dare-devil spirit and the power of his family, to 
carry him through all difficulties. 

" It was shortly after his return, and while 
in the height of his arrogance, that on visiting 
this very convent of Francisco, he beheld on a 
monument the equestrian statue of the mur- 
dered commander, who had been buried with- 



368 2)on $uan 



in the walls of this sacred edifice, where the 
family of Ulloa had a chapel. It was on this 
occasion that Don Juan, in a moment of im- 
pious levity, invited the statue to the banquet, 
the awful catastrophe of which has given such 
celebrity to his story." 

" And pray how much of this story," said I, 
' ' is believed in Seville ? ' ' 

1 l The whole of it by the populace, with 
whom it has been a favorite tradition since 
time immemorial, and who crowd to the 
theatres to see it represented in dramas written 
long since by Tyrso de Molina, and another 
of our popular writers. Many in our higher 
ranks also, accustomed from childhood to this 
story, would feel somewhat indignant at hear- 
ing it treated with contempt. An attempt has 
been made to explain the whole, 03^ asserting 
that, to put an end to the extravagances of Don 
Juan, and to pacify the family of Ulloa, with- 
out exposing the delinquent to the degrading 
penalties of justice, he was decoyed into this 
convent under false pretext, and either plunged 
into a perpetual dungeon, or privately hurried 
out of existence ; while the story of the statue 
was circulated by the monks, to account for his 
sudden disappearance. The populace, however, 
are not to be cajoled out of a ghost-story by 
any of these plausible explanations ; and the 



Stories ano ILecjenfts 369 



marble statue still strides the stage, and Don 
Juan is still plunged into the infernal regions, 
as an awful warning to all rake-helly young- 
sters, in like case offending." 

While my companion was relating these 
anecdotes, we had traversed the exterior court- 
yard of the convent, and made our way into 
a great interior court, partly surrounded by 
cloisters and dormitories, partly by chapels, 
and having a large fountain in the centre. 
The pile had evidently once been extensive 
and magnificent ; but it was for the greater 
part in ruins. By the light of the stars, and 
of twinkling lamps placed here and there in the 
chapels and corridors, I could see that many 
of the columns and arches were broken ; the 
walls were rent and riven ; while burnt beams 
and rafters showed the destructive effects of 
fire. The whole place had a desolate air ; the 
night breeze rustled through grass and weeds 
flaunting out of the crevices of the w T alls, or 
from the shattered columns ; the bat flitted 
about the vaulted passages, and the owl 
hooted from the ruined belfty. Never was 
any scene more completely fitted for a ghost- 
story. 

While I was indulging in picturings of the 
fancy, proper to such a place, the deep chant 
of the monks from the convent church came 



37o 2>on 5uan 



swelling upon the ear. " It is the vesper ser- 
vice, ' ' said my companion ; ' ' follow me. ' ' 

Leading the way across the court of the 
cloisters, and through one or two ruined pas- 
sages, he reached the portal of the church, 
and pushing open a wicket, cut in the folding- 
doors, we found ourselves in the deep arched 
vestibule of the sacred edifice. To our left 
was the choir, forming one end of the church, 
and having a low vaulted ceiling, which gave 
it the look of a cavern. About this were 
ranged the monks, seated on stools, and chant- 
ing from immense books placed on music- 
stands, and having the notes scored in such 
gigantic characters as to be legible from every 
part of the choir. A few lights on these 
music-stands dimly illumined the choir, 
gleamed on the shaven heads of the monks, 
and threw their shadows on the walls. They 
were gross, blue-bearded, bullet-headed men, 
with bass voices, of deep metallic tone, that 
reverberated out of the cavernous choir. 

To our right extended the great body of the 
church. It was spacious and lofty ; some of 
the side chapels had gilded grates, and were 
decorated with images and paintings, repre- 
senting the sufferings of our Saviour. Aloft 
was a great painting by Murillo, but too much 
; n the dark to be distinguished. The gloom 



Stories ano Xesenos 371 



of the whole church was but faintly relieved 
by the reflected light from the choir, and the 
glimmering here and there of a votive lamp 
before the shrine of the saint. 

As my eye roamed about the shadowy pile, 
it was struck with the dimly seen figure of a 
man on horseback, near a distant altar. I 
touched my companion, and pointed to it : 
' ' The spectre statue ! ' ' said I. 

" No," replied he ; " it is the statue of the 
blessed St. Iago ; the statue of the comman- 
der was in the cemetery of the convent, and 
was destroyed at the time of the conflagration. 
But," added he, "as I see you take a proper 
interest in these kind of stories, come with me 
to the other end of the church, where our 
whisperings will not disturb these holy fathers 
at their devotions, and I will tell you another 
story that has been current for some genera- 
tions in our city, by which you will find that 
Don Juan is not the only libertine that has 
been the object of supernatural castigation in 
Seville." 

I accordingly followed him with noiseless 
tread to the farther part of the church, where 
we took our seats on the steps of an altar 
opposite to the suspicious-looking figure on 
horseback, and there, in a low, mysterious 
voice, he related to me the following narrative : 



372 Bon 5uan 



"There was once in Seville a gay young 
fellow, Don Manuel de Manara by name, who, 
having come to a great estate by the death of 
his father, gave the reins to his passions, and 
plunged into all kinds of dissipation. Like 
Don Juan, whom he seemed to have taken for 
a model, he became famous for his enterprises 
among the fair sex, and was the cause of doors 
being barred and windows grated with more 
than usual strictness. All in vain. No bal- 
cony was too high for him to scale : no bolt 
nor bar was proof against his efforts ; and his 
very name was a word of terror to all the jeal- 
ous husbands and cautious fathers of Seville. 
His exploits extended to country as well as 
city ; and in the village dependent on his cas- 
tle scarce a rural beauty was safe from his arts 
and enterprises. 

"As he was one day ranging the streets of 
Seville, with several of his dissolute compan- 
ions, he beheld a procession, about to enter the 
gate of a convent. In the centre was a young 
female, arrayed in the dress of a bride ; it was 
a novice, who having accomplished her year of 
probation, was about to take the black veil, 
and consecrate herself to heaven. The com- 
panions of Don Manuel drew back, out of re- 
spect to the sacred pageant ; but he pressed 
forward with his usual impetuosity, to gain a 



Stories anD Xegenos 373 



near view of the novice. He almost jostled 
her, in passing through the portal of the church, 
when, on her turning round, he beheld the 
countenance of a beautiful village girl, who 
had been the object of his ardent pursuit, but 
who had been spirited secretly out of his reach 
by her relatives. She recognized him at the 
same moment, and fainted, but was borne 
within the grate of the chapel. It was sup- 
posed the agitation of the ceremony and the 
heat of the throng had overcome her. After 
some time, the curtain which hung within the 
grate was drawn up : there stood the novice, 
pale and trembling, surrounded by the abbess 
and the nuns. The ceremony proceeded ; the 
crown of flowers was taken from her head, she 
was shorn of her silken tresses, received the 
black veil, and went passively through the re- 
mainder of the ceremony. 

1 ' Don Manuel de Manara, on the contrary, was 
roused to fury at the sight of this sacrifice. His 
passion, which had almost faded away in the ab- 
sence of the object, now glowed with tenfold 
ardor, being inflamed by the difficulties placed in 
his way, and piqued by the measures which had 
been taken to defeat him. Never had the ob- 
ject of his pursuit appeared so lovely and desir- 
able as when within the grate of the convent ; 
and he swore to have her, in defiance of heaven 



374 2>on 5uan 



and earth. By dint of bribing a female servant 
of the convent, he contrived to convey letters 
to her, pleading his passion in the most elo- 
quent and seductive terms. How successful 
they were, is only a matter of conjecture ; cer- 
tain it is, he undertook one night to scale the 
garden-wall of the convent, either to carry off 
the nun, or gain admission to her cell. Just 
as he was mounting the wall, he was suddenly 
plucked back, and a stranger, muffled in a 
cloak, stood before him. 

" ' Rash man, forbear ! ' cried he ; 'is it not 
enough to have violated all human ties ? 
Wouldst thou steal a bride from heaven ! ' 

1 ' The sword of Don Manuel had been drawn 
on the instant, and furious at this interruption, 
he passed it through the body of the stranger, 
who fell dead at his feet. Hearing approach- 
ing footsteps, he fled the fatal spot, and mount- 
ing his horse, which was at hand, retreated to 
his estate in the country, at no great distance 
from Seville. Here he remained throughout 
the next day, full of horror and remorse, dread- 
ing lest he should be known as the murderer 
of the deceased, and fearing each moment the 
arrival of the officers of justice. 

' ■ The day passed, however, without moles- 
tation ; and as the evening advanced, unable 
any longer to endure this state of uncertainty 



Stories ano ILegenos 375 



and apprehension, he ventured back to Seville. 
Irresistibly his footsteps took the direction of 
the convent, but he paused and hovered at a 
distance from the scene of blood. Several per- 
sons were gathered round the place, one of 
whom was busy nailing something against the 
convent-wall. After a while they dispersed, 
and one passed near to Don Manuel. The lat- 
ter addressed him with hesitating voice. 

1 ' ' Sefior, ' said he, ' may I ask the reason of 
yonder throng ? ' 

" ' A cavalier,' replied the other, ' has been 
murdered. ' 

" ' Murdered ! ' echoed Don Manuel ; ' and 
can you tell me his name ? ' 

" ' Don Manuel de Manara/ replied the 
stranger, and passed on. 

"Don Manuel was startled at this mention 
of his own name, especially when applied to 
the murdered man. He ventured, when it was 
entirely deserted, to approach the fatal spot. 
A small cross had been nailed against the wall, 
as is customary in Spain, to mark the place 
where a murder has been committed ; and just 
below it he read, by the twinkling light of a 
lamp : ' Here was murdered Don Manuel de 
Manara. Pray to God for his soul ! ' 

' ' Still more confounded and perplexed by 
this inscription, he wandered about the streets 



376 2>on 3uan 



until the night was far advanced, and all was 
still and lonely. As he entered the principal 
square, the light of torches suddenly broke on 
him, and he beheld a grand funeral procession 
moving across it. There was a great train of 
priests, and many persons of dignified appear- 
ance, in ancient Spanish dresses, attending as 
mourners, none of whom he knew. Accosting 
a servant who followed in the train, he de- 
manded the name of the defunct. 

1 ' ' Don Manuel de Manara, ' was the reply ; 
and it went cold to his heart. He looked, and 
indeed beheld the armorial bearings of his 
family emblazoned on the funeral escutcheons. 
Yet not one of his family was to be seen among 
the mourners. The mystery was more and 
more incomprehensible. 

" He followed the procession as it moved 
on to the cathedral. The bier was deposited 
before the high altar ; the funeral service was 
commenced, and the grand organ began to 
peal through the vaulted aisles. 

" Again the youth ventured to question this 
awful pageant. ' Father,' said he, with trem- 
bling voice, to one of the priests, ' who is this 
you are about to inter ? ' 

" ' Don Manuel de Manara ! ' replied the 
priest. 

"'Father,' cried Don Manuel, impatiently ; 



Stories ano Uecienos 377 



1 you are deceived. This is some imposture. 
Know that Don Manuel de Manara is alive 
and well, and now stands before you. / am 
Don Manuel de Manara ! ' 

"'Avaunt, rash youth!' cried the priest, 
' know that Don Manuel de Manara is dead ! 
— is dead ! — is dead ! — and we are all souls 
from purgatory, his deceased relatives and 
ancestors, and others that have been aided by 
masses from his family, who are permitted to 
come here and pray for the repose of his soul ! ' 

1 ' Don Manuel cast round a fearful glance 
upon the assemblage in antiquated Spanish 
garbs, and recognized in their pale and ghastly 
countenances the portraits of many an ancestor 
that hung in the family picture-gallery. He 
now lost all self-command, rushed up to the 
bier, and beheld the counterpart of himself, 
but in the fixed and livid lineaments of death. 
Just at that moment the whole choir burst 
forth with a ' Requiescat in pace, ' that shook 
the vaults of the cathedral. Don Manuel sank 
senseless on the pavement. He was found 
there early the next morning by the sacristan, 
and conveyed to his home. When sufficiently 
recovered, he sent for a friar, and made a full 
confession of all that had happened. 

"'My son,' said the friar, 'all this is a 
miracle and a mystery intended for thy con- 



378 2)on 3uan 



version and salvation. The corpse thou hast 
seen was a token that thou hadst died to sin 
and the world ; take warning by it, and hence- 
forth live to righteousness and heaven ! ' 

' ' Don Manuel did take warning by it. 
Guided by the counsels of the worthy friar, 
he disposed of all his temporal affairs, dedi- 
cated the greater part of his wealth to pious 
uses, especially to the performance of masses 
for souls in purgatory, and finally, entering a 
convent, became one of the most zealous and 
exemplary monks in Seville." 

While my companion was relating this story, 
my eyes wandered, from time to time, about 
the dusky church. Methought the burly coun- 
tenances of the monks in the distant choir 
assumed a pallid, ghastly hue, and their deep 
metallic voices a sepulchral sound. By the 
time the story was ended, they had ended 
their chant, and, extinguishing their lights, 
glided, one by one, like shadows, through a 
small door in the side of the choir. A deeper 
gloom prevailed over the church ; the figure 
opposite me on horseback grew more and more 
spectral, and I almost expected to see it bow 
its head. 

4 * It is time to be off," said my companion, 
" unless we intend to sup with the statue." 

" I have no relish for such fare nor such 



Stories ano Irenes 379 



company, ' ' replied I ; and following my com- 
panion, we groped our way through the mould- 
ering cloisters. As we passed by the ruined 
cemetery, keeping up a casual conversation, 
by way of dispelling the loneliness of the scene, 
I called to mind the words of the poet : 

" The tombs 
And monumental caves of death look cold, 
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart ? 
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice ; 
Nay, speak — and let me hear thy voice ; 
Mine own affrights me with its echoes." 

There wanted nothing but the marble statue 
of the commander, striding along the echoing 
cloisters, to complete the haunted scene. 

Since that time, I never fail to attend the 
theatre whenever the story of Don Juan is rep- 
resented, whether in pantomime or opera. In 
the sepulchral scene, I feel myself quite at 
home ; and when the statue makes his appear- 
ance, I greet him as an old acquaintance. 
When the audience applaud, I look round 
upon them with a degree of compassion. 
' ' Poor souls ! " I say to myself, ' ' they think 
they are pleased ; they think they enjoy this 
piece, and yet they consider the whole as a 
fiction ! How much more would they enjoy 
it, if, like me, they knew it to be true — and had 
seen the very place ! ' ' 



%e$etib of tbe jEnsulpbefc Convent 

AT the dark and melancholy period when 
Don Roderick the Goth and his chiv- 
alry were overthrown on the banks of 
the Guadalete, and all Spain was over- 
run by the Moors, great was the devastation 
of churches and convents throughout that pious 
kingdom. The miraculous fate of one of those 
holy piles is thus recorded in an authentic 
legend of those days. 

On the summit of a hill, not very distant 
from the capital city of Toledo, stood an ancient 
convent and chapel, dedicated to the invocation 
of Saint Benedict, and inhabited by a sister- 
hood of Benedictine nuns. This holy asylum 
was confined to females of noble lineage. The 
younger sisters of the highest families were 
here given in religious marriage to their Sav- 
iour, in order that the portions of their elder 
sisters might be increased, and they enabled 
to make suitable matches on earth ; or that 
380 



Stories and Xe$ends 



the family wealth might go undivided to elder 
brothers, and the dignity of their ancient houses 
be protected from decay. The convent was 
renowned, therefore, for enshrining within 
its walls a sisterhood of the purest blood, the 
most immaculate virtue, and most resplen- 
dent beauty, of all Gothic Spain. 

When the Moors overran the kingdom, there 
was nothing that more excited their hostility 
than these virgin asylums. The very sight of 
a convent spire was sufficient to set their Mos- 
lem blood in a foment, and they sacked it with 
as fierce a zeal as though the sacking of a nun- 
nery were a sure passport to Elysium. 

Tidings of such outrages, committed in 
various parts of the kingdom, reached this 
noble sanctuary, and filled it with dismay. 
The danger came nearer and nearer ; the infidel 
hosts were spreading all over the country ; 
Toledo itself was captured ; there was no flying 
from the convent, and no security within its 
walls. 

In the midst of this agitation, the alarm was 
given one day. that a great band of Saracens 
were spurring across the plain. In an instant 
the whole convent was a scene of confusion. 
Some of the nuns wrung their fair hands at 
the windows : others waved their veils, and 
uttered shrieks, from the tops of the towers 



382 Gbe Engulpbed Convent 

vainly hoping to draw relief from a country 
overrun by the foe. The sight of these inno- 
cent doves thus fluttering about their dove- 
cote, but increased the zealot fury of the 
whiskered Moors. They thundered at the 
portal, and at every blow the ponderous gates 
trembled on their hinges. 

The nuns now crowded round the abbess. 
They had been accustomed to look up to her 
as all-powerful, and they now implored her 
protection. The mother abbess looked with a 
rueful eye upon the treasures of beauty and 
vestal virtue exposed to such imminent peril. 
Alas ! how was she to protect them from 
the spoiler ! She had, it is true, experienced 
man}' signal interpositions of Providence in her 
individual favor. Her early days had been 
passed amid the temptations of a court, where 
her virtue had been purified by repeated trials, 
from none of which had she escaped but by 
miracle. But were miracles never to cease? 
Could she hope that the marvellous protection 
shown to herself would be extended to a whole 
sisterhood ? There was no other resource. 
The Moors were at the threshold ; a few mo- 
ments more, and the convent would be at their 
mercy. Summoning her nuns to follow her, 
she hurried into the chapel, and throwing her- 
self on her knees before the image of the blessed 



Stories ano Xegenos 383 



Mary, "Oh, holy Lady!" exclaimed she, 
"oh, most pure and immaculate of virgins! 
thou seest our extremity. The ravager is at 
the gate, and there is none on earth to help us ! 
Iyook down with pity, and grant that the earth 
may gape and swallow us, rather than that 
our cloister vows should suffer violation ! ' ' 

The Moors redoubled their assault upon the 
portal ; the gates gave way, with a tremendous 
crash ; a savage yell of exultation arose ; when 
of a sudden the earth yawned, down sank the 
convent, with its cloisters, its dormitories, and 
all its nuns. The chapel tower was the last 
that sank, the bell ringing forth a peal of 
triumph in the very teeth of the infidels. 

Forty years had passed and gone, since the 
period of this miracle. The subjugation of 
Spain was complete. The Moors lorded it 
over city and country ; and such of the Chris- 
tian population as remained, and were per- 
mitted to exercise their religion, did it in 
humble resignation to the Moslem sway. 

At this time, a Christian cavalier of Cordova, 
hearing that a patriotic band of his country- 
men had raised the standard of the cross in 
the mountains of the Asturias, resolved to 
join them, and unite in breaking the yoke of 
bondage. Secretly arming himself and capar- 
isoning his steed, he set forth from Cordova, 



384 Gbe Bngulpbeo Convent 

and pursued his course by unfrequented mule- 
paths, and along the dry channels made by 
winter torrents. His spirit burned with indig- 
nation, whenever, on commanding a view 
over a long sweeping plain, he beheld the 
mosque swelling in the distance, and the Arab 
horsemen careering about, as if the rightful 
lords of the soil. Many a deep-drawn sigh 
and heavy groan, also, did the good cavalier 
utter, on passing the ruins of churches and 
convents desolated by the conquerors. 

It was on a sultry midsummer evening, 
that this wandering cavalier, in skirting a 
hill thickly covered with forest, heard the 
faint tones of a vesper-bell sounding melodi- 
ously in the air, and seeming to come from 
the summit of the hill. The cavalier crossed 
himself with wonder at this unwonted and 
Christian sound. He supposed it to proceed 
from one of those humble chapels and hermit- 
ages permitted to exist through the indul- 
gence of the Moslem conquerors. Turning 
his steed up a narrow path of the forest, he 
sought this sanctuary, in hopes of finding a 
hospitable shelter for the night. As he ad- 
vanced, the trees threw a deep gloom around 
him, and the bat flitted across his path. The 
bell ceased to toll, and all was silence. 

Presently a choir of female voices came 






Stories ano Xegenos 385 



stealing sweetly through the forest, chanting 
the evening service, to the solemn accompani- 
ment of an organ. The heart of the good 
cavalier melted at the sound, for it recalled 
the happier days of his country. Urging for- 
ward his weary steed, he at length arrived at 
a broad grassy area, on the summit of the hill, 
surrounded by the forest. Here the melodious 
voices rose in full chorus, like the swelling of 
the breeze ; but whence they came, he could 
not tell. Sometimes they were before, some- 
times behind him ; sometimes in the air, some- 
times as if from within the bosom of the 
earth. At length they died away, and a holy 
stillness settled on the place. 

The cavalier gazed around with bewildered 
eye. There was neither chapel nor convent, 
nor humble hermitage, to be seen ; nothing 
but a moss-grown stone pinnacle, rising out 
of the centre of the area, surmounted by a 
cross. The green sward appeared to have 
been sacred from the tread of man or beast, 
and the surrounding trees bent toward the 
cross, as if in adoration. 

The cavalier felt a sensation of holy awe. 

He alighted, and tethered his steed on the 

skirts of the forest, where he might crop the 

tender herbage ; then approaching the cross, 

he knelt and poured forth his evening prayers 
25 



386 xzbe Bngulpbeo Convent 

before this relic of trie Christian days of Spain. 
His orisons being concluded, he laid himself 
down at the foot of the pinnacle, and reclining 
his head against one of its stones, fell into a 
deep sleep. 

About midnight he was awakened by the 
tolling of a bell, and found himself lying 
before the gate of an ancient convent. A 
train of nuns passed by, each bearing a taper. 
He rose and followed them into the chapel ; 
in the centre was a bier, on which lay the 
corpse of an aged nun. The organ performed 
a solemn requiem, the nuns joining in chorus. 
When the funeral service was finished, a me- 
lodious voice chanted, " Requiescat in pace ! " 
— "May she rest in peace!" The lights 
immediately vanished ; the whole passed 
away as a dream ; and the cavalier found 
himself at the foot of the cross, and beheld, 
by the faint rays of the rising moon, his steed 
quietly grazing near him. 

When the day dawned he descended the 
hill, and following the course of a small brook, 
came to a cave, at the entrance of which was 
seated an ancient man, in hermit's garb, with 
rosary and cross, and a beard that descended 
to his girdle. He was one of those holy 
anchorites permitted by the Moors to live 
unmolested in the dens and caves, and humble 



Stories ano ftegenos 387 



hermitages, and even to practise the rites 
of their religion. The cavalier, dismounting, 
knelt and craved a benediction. He then re- 
lated all that had befallen him in the night, and 
besought the hermit to explain the mystery. 

" What thou hast heard and seen, my son," 
replied the other, ' ' is but a type and shadow 
of the woes of Spain. ' ' 

He then related the foregoing story of the 
miraculous deliverance of the convent. 

" Forty years/' added the holy man, "have 
elapsed since this event, yet the bells of that 
sacred edifice are still heard, from time 
to time, sounding from underground, together 
with the pealing of the organ and the chanting 
of the choir. The Moors avoid this neighbor- 
hood, as haunted ground, and the whole place, 
as thou mayst perceive, has become covered 
with a thick and lonely forest." 

The cavalier listened with wonder to the 
story. For three days and nights did he keep 
vigils with the holy man beside the cross ; but 
nothing more was to be seen of nun or convent. 
It is supposed that, forty years having elapsed, 
the natural lives of all the nuns were finished, 
and the cavalier had beheld the obsequies of 
the last. Certain it is, that from that time, bell, 
and organ, and choral chant have never more 
been heard. 



388 Zbe JSngnlpbctf Convent 

The mouldering pinnacle, surmounted by the 
cross, remains an object of pious pilgrimage. 
Some say that it anciently stood in front of the 
convent, but others that it was the spire which 
remained above ground, when the main body 
of the building sank, like the topmast of some 
tall ship that has foundered. These pious 
believers maintain that the convent is miracu- 
lously preserved entire in the centre of the 
mountain, where, if proper excavations were 
made, it would be found, with all its treasures, 
and monuments, and shrines, and relics, and 
the tombs of its virgin nuns. 

Should any one doubt the truth of this 
marvellous interposition of the Virgin, to pro- 
tect the vestal purity of her votaries, let him 
read the excellent work entitled Espana Tri- 
umphante, written by Fray Antonio de Sancta 
Maria, a barefoot friar of the Carmelite order, 
and he will doubt no longer. 







cbe pbantom f slanfr. 

"Break. 7 cave of cloud, 

And wave thy pur: 

m all thy figures are allowed, 
And various shapes of things. 
Create of airy forms a stream ; 

It must have blood and naught of phlegm ; 
And though it be a waking dream, 
I let it like an odor rise 
To all the senses here, 
And fell like sleep upon their eyes 
Or music on their ear." 

— Be>- Jonson. 

11 f I ^HKRI! ire more things in heaven and 
I earth than are dreamed of in our 
A philosophy," and among these may 
be placed that marvel and mystery of 
the seas, the Island of St. Brandan. Those who 
have read the history of the Canaries, the for- 
tunate islands of the ancients, may remember 
the wonders told of this enigmatical island. 
Occasionally it would be visible from their 
-tretching away in the clear bright 



39° Stories ano ^Legends 



west, to all appearance substantial like them- 
selves, and still more beautiful. Expeditions 
would launch forth from the Canaries to ex- 
plore this land of promise. For a time its 
sungilt peaks and long, shadowy promontories 
would remain distinctly visible, but in propor- 
tion as the voyagers approached, peak and 
promontory would gradually fade away until 
nothing would remain but blue sky above and 
deep blue water below. Hence this mysterious 
isle was stigmatized by ancient cosmographers 
with the name of Aprositus or the Inaccessible. 
The failure of numerous expeditions sent in 
quest of it, both in ancient and modern days, 
has at length caused its very existence to be 
called in question, and it has been rashly pro- 
nounced a mere optical illusion, like the Fata 
Morgana of the Straits of Messina, or has been 
classed with those unsubstantial regions known 
to mariners as Cape Fly Away and the coast of 
Cloud I,and. 

I,et us not permit, however, the doubts of 
worldly-wise sceptics to rob us of all the glori- 
ous realms owned by happy credulity in days 
of yore. Be assured, O reader of easy faith ! 
— thou for whom it is my delight to labor — be 
assured that such an island actually exists, and 
has from time to time been revealed to the 
gaze and trodden by the feet of favored mor- 



Gbe pbantom "flslanfc 391 



tals. Historians and philosophers may have 
their doubts, but its existence has been fully 
attested by that inspired race, the poets ; who, 
being gifted with a kind of second sight, are 
enabled to discern those mysteries of nature 
hidden from the eyes of ordinary men. To 
this gifted race it has ever been a kind of won- 
der-land. Here once bloomed, and perhaps 
still blooms, the famous garden of the Hes- 
perides, with its golden fruit. Here, too, the 
sorceress Armida had her enchanted garden, 
in which she held the Christian paladin, Ri- 
naldo, in delicious but inglorious thraldom, as 
set forth in the immortal lay of Tasso. It was 
in this island that Sycorax the witch held 
sway, when the good Prospero and his infant 
daughter Miranda were wafted to its shores. 
Who does not know the tale as told in the 
magic page of Shakespeare ? The isle was 
then 



"full of noises, 



Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt 
not." 

The island, in fact, at different times, has been 
under the sway of different powers, genii of 
earth, and air, and ocean, who have made it 
their shadowy abode. Hither have retired 
many classic but broken-down deities, shorn 



392 Stories ano %egends 



of almost all their attributes, but who once 
ruled the poetic world. Here Neptune and 
Amphitrite hold a diminished court, sovereigns 
in exile. Their ocean-chariot, almost a wreck, 
lies bottom upward in some sea-beaten cavern ; 
their pursy Tritons and haggard Nereids bask 
listlessly like seals about the rocks. Some- 
times those deities assume, it is said, a shadow 
of their ancient pomp, and glide in state about 
a summer sea ; and then, as some tall India- 
man lies becalmed with idly napping sail, her 
drowsy crew may hear the mellow note of the 
Triton's shell swelling upon the ear as the 
invisible pageant sweeps by. 

On the shores of this wondrous isle the 
kraken heaves its unwieldy bulk and wallows 
many a rood. Here the sea-serpent, that 
mighty but much-contested reptile, lies coiled 
up during the intervals of its revelations to the 
eyes of true believers. Here even the Flying 
Dutchman finds a port, and casts his anchor, 
and furls his shadowy sail, and takes a brief 
repose from his eternal crui sings. 

In the deep bays and harbors of the island 
lies many a spellbound ship, long since given 
up as lost by the ruined merchant. Here, too, 
its crew, long, long bewailed in vain, lie sleep- 
ing from age to age in mossy grottos, or wan- 
der about in pleasing oblivion of all things. 



Xlbe pbantom IfslanO 393 



Here in caverns are garnered up the priceless 
treasures lost in the ocean. Here sparkles in 
vain the diamond and flames the carbuncle. 
Here are piled up rich bales of Oriental silks, 
boxes of pearls, and piles of golden ingots. 

Such are some of the marvels related of this 
island, which may serve to throw light upon 
the following legend, of unquestionable truth, 
which I recommend to the implicit belief of 
the reader. 




ZTbe Bfcalantafco ot tbe Seven Cities. 



A LEGEND OF ST. BRANDAN. 



IN the early part of the fifteenth century, 
when Prince Henry of Portugal, of worthy 
memory, was pushing the career of dis- 
covery along the western coast of Africa, 
and the world was resounding with reports of 
golden regions on the mainland, and new-found 
islands in the ocean, there arrived at Lisbon 
an old bewildered pilot of the seas, who had 
been driven by tempests, he knew not whither, 
and raved about an island far in the deep, 
upon which he had landed, and which he had 
found peopled with Christians, and adorned 
with noble cities. 

The inhabitants, he said, having never be- 
fore been visited by a ship, gathered round, 
and regarded him w r ith surprise. They told 
him they were descendants of a band of Chris- 
tians, who fled from Spain when that country 
was conquered by the Moslems. They were 

394 



Zbc Boalantaoo of tbe Seven Citiee 395 



curious about the state of their fatherland, and 
grieved to hear that the Moslems still held 
possession of the kingdom of Granada. They 
would have taken the old navigator to church, 
to convince him of their orthodoxy ; but, either 
through lack of devotion, or lack of faith 
in their words, he declined their invitation, 
and preferred to return on board of his ship. 
He was properly punished. A furious storm 
arose, drove him from his anchorage, hurried 
him out to sea, and he saw no more of the 
unknown island. 

This strange story caused great marvel in 
Iyisbon and elsewhere. Those versed in his- 
tory remembered to have read, in an ancient 
chronicle, that, at the time of the conquest of 
Spain, in the eighth century, when the blessed 
cross was cast down and the crescent erected 
in its place, and when Christian churches were 
turned into Moslem mosques, seven bishops, 
at the head of seven bands of pious exiles, had 
fled from the peninsula, and embarked in quest 
of some ocean island, or distant land, where 
they might found seven Christian cities, and 
enjoy their faith unmolested. 

The fate of these saints-errant had hitherto 
remained a mystery, and their story had faded 
from memory ; the report of the old tempest- 
tossed pilot, however, revived this long-for- 



396 Stories ano Xeaenos 



gotten theme; and it was determined by the 
pious and enthusiastic that the island thus ac- 
cidentally discovered was the identical place 
of refuge whither the wandering bishops had 
been guided by a protecting Providence, and 
where they had folded their flocks. 

This most excitable of worlds has always 
some darling object of chimerical enterprise ; 
the " Island of the Seven Cities " now awak- 
ened as much interest and longing among 
zealous Christians as has the renowned city 
of Timbuctoo among adventurous travellers, 
or the Northeast passage among hardy navi- 
gators ; and it was a frequent prayer of the 
devout, that these scattered and lost portions 
of the Christian family might be discovered 
and reunited to the great body of Christendom. 

No one, however, entered into the matter 
with half the zeal of Don Fernando de Ulmo, 
a young cavalier of high standing in the Por- 
tuguese court, and of most sanguine and ro- 
mantic temperament. He had recently come 
to his estate, and had run the round of all 
kinds of pleasures and excitements when this 
new theme of popular talk and wonder pre- 
sented itself. The Island of the Seven Cities 
became now the constant subject of his thoughts 
by day, and his dreams by night ; it even ri- 
valled his passion for a beautiful girl, one of 



Gbe Hoalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 397 



the greatest belles of Lisbon, to whom he was 
betrothed. At length his imagination became 
so inflamed on the subject, that he determined 
to fit out an expedition, at his own expense, 
and set sail in quest of this sainted island. It 
could not be a cruise of any great extent ; for, 
according to the calculations of the tempest- 
tossed pilot, it must be somewhere in the lati- 
tude of the Canaries, which at that time, when 
the new world was as yet undiscovered, formed 
the frontier of ocean enterprise. Don Fer- 
nando applied to the crown for countenance 
and protection. As he was a favorite at court, 
the usual patronage was readily extended to 
him ; that is to say, he received a commission 
from the king, Don loam II., constituting him 
Adalantado, or military governor, of any coun- 
try he might discover, with the single proviso, 
that he should bear all the expenses of the dis- 
covery, and pay a tenth of the profits to the 
crown. 

Don Fernando now set to work in the true 
spirit of a projector. He sold acre after acre 
of solid land, and invested the proceeds in 
ships, guns, ammunition, and sea-stores. Kven 
his old family mansion in Lisbon was mort- 
gaged without scruple, for he looked forward 
to a palace in one of the Seven Cities, of which 
he was to be Adalantado. This was the age 



398 Stories ano SLegenos 



of nautical romance, when the thoughts of all 
speculative dreamers were turned to the ocean. 
The scheme of Don Fernando, therefore, drew 
adventurers of every kind. The merchant 
promised himself new marts of opulent traffic ; 
the soldier hoped to sack and plunder some 
one or other of those Seven Cities ; even the 
fat monk shook off the sleep and sloth of the 
cloister, to join in a crusade which promised 
such increase to the possessions of the Church. 
One person alone regarded the whole project 
with sovereign contempt and growing hostility. 
This was Don Ramiro Alvarez, the father of 
the beautiful Serafina, to whom Don Fernando 
was betrothed. He was one of those perverse, 
matter-of-fact old men, who are prone to oppose 
everything speculative and romantic. He had 
no faith in the Island of the Seven Cities ; re- 
garded the projected cruise as a crack-brained 
freak ; looked with angry eye and internal 
heart-burning on the conduct of his intended 
son-in-law, chaffering away solid lands for 
lands in the moon ; and scoffingly dubbed him 
Adalantado of Cloud I^and. In fact, he had 
never really relished the intended match, to 
which his consent had been slowly extorted 
by the tears and entreaties of his daughter. 
It is true he could have no reasonable objec- 
tions to the youth, for Don Fernando was the 






Gbe Boalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 399 



very flower of Portuguese chivalry. No one 
could excel him at the tilting match, or the rid- 
ing at the ring ; none was more bold and dex- 
terous in the bull-fight ; none composed more 
gallant madrigals in praise of his lady's 
charms, or sang them with sweeter tones to 
the accompaniment of her guitar ; nor could 
any one handle the castanets and dance the 
bolero with more captivating grace. All these 
admirable qualities and endowments, however, 
though they had been sufficient to win the 
heart of Serafina, were nothing in the eyes of 
her unreasonable father. Oh Cupid, god of 
I/)ve ! why will fathers always be so unrea- 
sonable ? 

The engagment to Serafina had threatened 
at first to throw an obstacle in the way of the 
expedition of Don Fernando, and for a time 
perplexed him in the extreme. He was pas- 
sionately attached to the } r oung lady ; but he 
was also passionately bent on this romantic 
enterprise. How should he reconcile the two 
passionate inclinations ? A simple and obvious 
arrangement at length presented itself, — marry 
Serafina, enjoy a portion of the honeymoon at 
once, and defer the rest until his return from 
the discovery of the Seven Cities ! 

He hastened to make known this most ex- 
cellent arrangement to Don Ramiro, when the 



4oo Stories ano ILegenos 



long-smothered wrath of the old cavalier burst 
forth. He reproached him with being the dupe 
of wandering vagabonds and wild schemers, 
and with squandering all his real possessions, 
in pursuit of empty bubbles. Don Fernando 
was too sanguine a projector, and too young a 
man, to listen tamely to such language. He 
acted with what is technically called ' ' becom- 
ing spirit." A high quarrel ensued ; Don 
Ramiro pronounced him a madman, and for- 
bade all further intercourse with his daughter 
until he should give proof of returning sanity 
by abandoning this madcap enterprise ; while 
Don Fernando flung out of the house, more 
bent than ever on the expedition, from the idea 
of triumphing over the incredulity of the 
greybeard, when he should return success- 
ful. Don Ramiro' s heart misgave him. Who 
knows, thought he, but this crack-brained vis- 
ionary may persuade my daughter to elope with 
him, and share his throne in this unknown par- 
adise of fools ? If I could only keep her safe 
until his ships are fairly out at sea ! 

He repaired to her apartment, represented to 
her the sanguine, unsteady character of her 
lover and the chimerical value of his schemes, 
and urged the propriety of suspending all inter- 
course with him until he should recover from 
his present hallucination. She bowed her head 






Cbe Hoalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 401 



as if in filial acquiescence, whereupon he folded 
her to his bosom with parental fondness and 
kissed away a tear that was stealing over her 
cheek, but as he left the chamber quietly 
turned the key in the lock ; for though he was 
a fond father and had a high opinion of the 
submissive temper of his child, he had a still 
higher opinion of the conservative virtues of 
lock and key, and determined to trust to them 
until the caravels should sail. Whether the 
damsel had been in anywise shaken in her faith 
as to the schemes of her lover by her father's 
eloquence, tradition does not say ; but certain 
it is, that, the moment she heard the key turn 
in the lock, she became a firm believer in the 
Island of the Seven Cities. 

The door was locked ; but her will was un- 
confined. A window of the chamber opened 
into one of those stone balconies, secured by 
iron bars, which project like huge cages from 
Portuguese and Spanish houses. Within this 
balcony the beautiful Serafina had her birds 
and flowers, and here she was accustomed to 
sit on moonlight nights as in a bower, and 
touch her guitar and sing like a wakeful night- 
ingale. From this balcony an intercourse was 
now maintained between the lovers, against 
which the lock and key of Don Ramiro were 

of no avail. All day would Fernando be occu- 
26 



402 Stories ano Xegenos 



pied hurrying the equipments of his ships, but 
evening found him in sweet discourse beneath 
his lady's window. 

At length the preparations were completed. 
Two gallant caravels lay at anchor in the 
Tagus ready to sail at sunrise. Late at night 
by the pale light of a waning moon the lover 
had his last interview. The beautiful Serafina 
was sad at heart and full of dark forebodings ; 
her lover full of hope and confidence. ' ' A few 
short months," said he, "and I shall return 
in triumph. Thy father will then blush at his 
incredulitj 7 , and hasten to welcome to his 
house the Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

The gentle lady shook her head. It was 
not on this point she felt distrust. She was a 
thorough believer in the Island of the Seven 
Cities, and so sure of the success of the enter- 
prise that she might have been tempted to join 
it had not the balcony been high and the 
grating strong. Other considerations induced 
that dubious shaking of the head. She had 
heard of the inconstancy of the seas, and the 
inconstancy of those who roam them. Might 
not Fernando meet with other loves in foreign 
ports ? Might not some peerless beauty in one 
or other of those Seven Cities efface the image 
of Serafina from his mind ? Now let the truth 
be spoken, the beautiful Serafina had reason 



Qbe Boalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 403 



for her disquiet. If Don Fernando had any 
fault in the world, it was that of being rather 
inflammable and apt to take fire from every 
sparkling eye. He had been somewhat of a 
rover among the sex on shore, what might he 
be on sea ? 

She ventured to express her doubt, but he 
spurned at the very idea. "What! be false 
to Serafina ! He bow at the shrine of another 
beauty ? Never ! never ! ' ' Repeatedly did 
he bend his knee, and smite his breast, and 
call upon the silver moon to witness his sincer- 
ity and truth. 

He retorted the doubt, ' ' Might not Serafina 
herself forget her plighted faith ? Might not 
some wealthier rival present himself while he 
was tossing on the sea ; and, backed by her 
father's wishes, win the treasure of her hand ! ' ' 

The beautiful Serafina raised her white arms 
between the iron bars of the balcony, and, like 
her lover, invoked the moon to testify her 
vows. Alas ! how little did Fernando know 
her heart. The more her father should op- 
pose, the more would she be fixed in faith. 
Though years should intervene, Fernando on 
his return would find her true. Even should 
the salt sea swallow him up (and her eyes shed 
salt tears at the very thought), never would 
she be the wife of another ! Never, never, 



4<H Stories ano Uegenos 



never ! She drew from her finger a ring 
gemmed with a ruby heart, and dropped it 
from the balcony, a parting pledge of con- 
stancy. 

Thus the lovers parted with many a tender 
word and plighted vow. But will they keep 
those vows ? Perish the doubt ! Have they 
not called the constant moon to witness ? 

With the morning dawn the caravels dropped 
down the Tagus, and put to sea. They steered 
for the Canaries, in those days the regions of 
nautical discovery and romance, and the out- 
posts of the known world, for as yet Columbus 
had not steered his daring barks across the 
ocean. Scarce had they reached those lati- 
tudes when they were separated by a violent 
tempest. For many da}'s was the caravel of 
Don Fernando driven about at the mercy of 
the elements ; all seamanship was baffled, 
destruction seemed inevitable, and the crew 
were in despair. All at once the storm sub- 
sided ; the ocean sank into a calm ; the clouds 
which had veiled the face of heaven were sud- 
denly withdrawn, and the tempest-tossed mar- 
iners beheld a fair and mountainous island, 
emerging as if by enchantment from the 
murky gloom. They rubbed their eyes and 
gazed for a time almost incredulously, yet 
there lay the island spread out in lovely land- 



XLbe Sfcalantafco of tbe Seven Cities 405 



scape, with the late stormy sea laving its shores 
with peaceful billows. 

The pilot of the caravel consulted his maps 
and charts ; no island like the one before him 
was laid down as existing in those parts ; it is 
true he had lost his reckoning in the late storm, 
but, according to his calculations, he could not 
be far from the Canaries ; and this was not one 
of that group of islands. The caravel now lay 
perfectly becalmed off the mouth of a river, 
on the banks of which, about a league from 
the sea, was descried a noble city, with lofty 
walls and towers, and a protecting castle. 

After a time, a stately barge with sixteen 
oars was seen emerging from the river, and ap- 
proaching the caravel. It was quaintly carved 
and gilt ; the oarsmen were clad in antique 
garb, their oars painted of a bright crimson, and 
they came slowly and solemnly, keeping time 
as they rowed to the cadence of an old Spanish 
ditty. Under a silken canopy in the stern sat 
a cavalier richly clad, and over his head was a 
banner bearing the sacred emblem of the cross. 

When the barge reached the caravel, the cav- 
alier stepped on board. He was tall and gaunt ; 
with a long Spanish visage, moustaches that 
curled up to his eyes, and a forked beard. He 
wore gauntlets reaching to his elbows, a Toledo 
blade strutting out behind, with a basket hilt, 



4o6 Stories ano Xegenos 



in which he carried his handkerchief. His air 
was lofty and precise, and bespoke indisputably 
the hidalgo. Thrusting out a long spindle leg, 
he took off a huge sombrero, and swaying it 
until the feather swept the ground, accosted 
Don Fernando in the old Castilian language, 
and with the old Castilian courtesy, welcoming 
him to the Island of the Seven Cities. 

Don Fernando was overwhelmed with aston- 
ishment. Could this be true ? Had he really 
been tempest-driven to the very land of which 
he was in quest ? 

It was even so. That very day the inhabi- 
tants were holding high festival in commemo- 
ration of the escape of their ancestors from the 
Moors. The arrival of the caravel at such a 
juncture was considered a good omen, the ac- 
complishment of an ancient prophecy through 
which the island was to be restored to the great 
community of Christendom. The cavalier be- 
fore him was grand chamberlain, sent by the 
alcayde to invite him to the festivities of the 
capital. 

Don Fernando could scarce believe that this 
was not all a dream. He made known his 
name and the object of his voyage. The grand 
chamberlain declared that all was in perfect ac- 
cordance with the ancient prophec}^ and that 
the moment his credentials were presented, he 



Gbe BDalantaDo ot tbe Seven Cities 407 



would be acknowledged as the Adalantado of 
the Seven Cities. In the meantime the day- 
was waning ; the barge was ready to convey 
him to the land and would as assuredly bring 
him back. 

Don Fernando's pilot, a veteran of the seas, 
drew him aside and expostulated against his 
venturing, on the mere word of a stranger, to 
land in a strange barge on an unknown shore. 
Who knows, Senor, what land this is, or what 
people inhabit it ? " 

Don Fernando was not to be dissuaded. Had 
he not believed in this island when all the world 
doubted ? Had he not sought it in defiance of 
storm and tempest, and was he now to shrink 
from "its shores when they lay before him in 
calm weather ? In a word, was not faith the 
very corner-stone of his enterprise ? 

Having arrayed himself, therefore, in gala 
dress befitting the occasion, he took his seat in 
the barge. The grand chamberlain seated 
himself opposite. The rowers plied their oars, 
and renewed the mournful old ditty, and the 
gorgeous but unwieldy barge moved slowly 
through the water. 

The night closed in before they entered the 
river, and swept along past rock and promon- 
tory, each guarded by its tower. At every post 
they were challenged by the sentinel. 



408 Stories ano %egenbs 



1 ' Who goes there ? ' ' 
" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
"Welcome, Sefior Adalantado. Pass on." 
Entering the harbor they rowed close by an 
armed galley of ancient form. Soldiers with 
crossbows patrolled the deck. 
"Who goes there? " 
" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
" Welcome, Sefior Adalantado. Pass on." 
They landed at a broad flight of stone steps, 
leading up between two massive towers, and 
knocked at the water-gate. A sentinel, in an- 
cient steel casque, looked from the barbican. 
"Who is there?" 

11 The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
11 Welcome, Sefior Adalantado." 
The gate swung open, grating upon rusty 
hinges. They entered between two rows of 
warriors in Gothic armor, with crossbows, 
maces, battle-axes, and faces old-fashioned as 
their armor. There were processions through 
the streets, in commemoration of the landing 
of the seven Bishops and their followers, and 
bonfires at which effigies of losel Moors expi- 
ated their invasion of Christendom by a kind 
of auto-da-fe. The groups round the fires, un- 
couth in their attire, looked like the fantastic 
figures that roam the streets in Carnival time. 
Even the dames who gazed down from Gothic 



Gbe Boalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 409 



balconies hung with antique tapestry, resem- 
bled effigies dressed up in Christmas mum- 
meries. Everything, in short, bore the stamp 
of former ages, as if the world had suddenly 
rolled back for several centuries. Nor was 
this to be wondered at. Had not the Island 
of the Seven Cities been cut off from the rest 
of the world for several hundred years ; and 
were not these the modes and customs of 
Gothic Spain before it was conquered by the 
Moors ? 

Arrived at the palace of the alcayde, the 
grand chamberlain knocked at the portal. The 
porter looked through a wicket, and demanded 
who was there. 

" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

The portal was thrown wide open. The 
grand chamberlain led the way up a vast, 
heavily moulded, marble staircase, and into a 
hall of ceremony, where was the alcayde with 
several of the principal dignitaries of the city, 
who had a marvellous resemblance, in form 
and feature, to the quaint figures in old illu- 
minated manuscripts. 

The grand chamberlain stepped forward and 
announced the name and title of the stranger 
guest, and the extraordinary nature of his 
mission. The announcement appeared to cre- 
ate no extraordinary emotion or surprise, but 



4io Stories ano Xegenos 



to be received as the anticipated fulfilment of 
a prophecy. 

The reception of Don Fernando, however, 
was profoundly gracious, though in the same 
style of stately courtesy which everywhere 
prevailed. He would have produced his cre- 
dentials, but this was courteously declined. 
The evening was devoted to high festivity ; 
the following day, when he should enter the 
port with his caravel, would be devoted to 
business, when the credentials would be re- 
ceived in due form, and he inducted into office 
as Adalantado of the Seven Cities. 

Don Fernando w r as now conducted through 
one of those interminable suites of apartments, 
the pride of Spanish palaces, all furnished in 
a style of obsolete magnificence. In a vast 
saloon, blazing with tapers, was assembled all 
the aristocracy and fashion of the city, — stately 
dames and cavaliers, the very counterpart of 
the figures in the tapestry which decorated the 
walls. Fernando gazed in silent marvel. It 
was a reflex of the proud aristocracy of Spain 
in the time of Roderick the Goth. 

The festivities of the evening were all in the 
style of solemn and antiquated ceremonial. 
There was a dance, but it was as if the old 
tapestry were put in motion, and all the figures 
moving in stately measure about the floor. 



XTbe Boalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 4" 



There was one exception, and one that told 
powerfully upon the susceptible Adalantado. 
The alcayde's daughter — such a ripe, melting 
beauty ! Her dress, it is true, like the dresses 
of her neighbors, might have been worn before 
the flood, but she had the black Andalusian 
eye, a glance of which, through its long dark 
lashes, is irresistible. Her voice, too, her man- 
ner, her undulating movements, all smacked 
of Andalusia, and showed how female charms 
may be transmitted from age to age, and clime 
to clime, without ever going out of fashion. 
Those who know the witchery of the sex, in 
that most amorous part of amorous old Spain, 
may judge of the fascination to which Don Fer- 
nando was exposed, as he joined in the dance 
with one of its most captivating descendants. 

He sat beside her at the banquet ! such an 
old-world feast ! such obsolete dainties ! At 
the head of the table the peacock, that bird of 
state and ceremony, was served up in full 
plumage on a golden dish. As Don Fernando 
cast his eyes down the glittering board, what 
a vista presented itself of odd heads and head- 
dresses ; of formal bearded dignitaries and 
stately dames, with castellated locks and 
towering plumes ! Is it to be wondered at 
that he should turn with delight from these 
antiquated figures to the alcayde's daughter, 



412 



Stories ano ILegertos 



all smiles and dimples, and melting looks and 
melting accents ? Beside, for I wish to give 
him every excuse in my power, he was in a 
particularly excitable mood from the novelty 
of the scene before him, from this realization 
of all his hopes and fancies, and from frequent 
draughts of the wine-cup, presented to him at 
every moment by officious pages during the 
banquet. 

In a word — there is no concealing the matter 
— before the evening was over, Don Fernando 
was making love outright to the alcayde's 
daughter. They had wandered together to a 
moon-lit balcony of the palace, and he was 
charming her ear with one of those love-ditties 
with which, in a like balcony, he had sere- 
naded the beautiful Serafina. 

The damsel hung her head coyly. "Ah! 
Senor, these are flattering words ; but you 
cavaliers, who roam the seas, are unsteady as 
its waves. To-morrow you will be throned in 
state, Adalantado of the Seven Cities; and 
will think no more of the alcayde's daughter." 

Don Fernando in the intoxication of the 
moment called the moon to witness his sincer- 
ity. As he raised his hand in adjuration, the 
chaste moon cast a ray upon the ring that 
sparkled on his finger. It caught the damsel's 
eye. " Signor Adalantado," said she archly. 



Gbe Boalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 413 



1 ' I have no great faith in the moon, but give 
me that ring upon your finger in pledge of the 
truth of what you profess. ' ' 

The gallant Adalantado was taken by sur- 
prise ; there was no parrying this sudden 
appeal ; before he had time to reflect, the ring 
of the beautiful Serafina glittered on the finger 
of the alcayde's daughter. 

At this eventful moment the chamberlain 
approached with lofty demeanor, and an- 
nounced that the barge was waiting to bear 
him back to the caravel. I forbear to relate 
the ceremonious partings with the alcayde and 
his dignitaries, and the tender farewell of the 
alcayde's daughter. He took his seat in the 
barge opposite the grand chamberlain. The 
rowers plied their crimson oars in the same 
slow and stately manner, to the cadence of 
the same mournful old ditty. His brain was 
in a whirl with all that he had seen, and his 
heart now and then gave him a twinge as he 
thought of his temporary infidelity to the beau- 
tiful Serafina. The barge sallied out into the 
sea, but no caravel was to be seen ; doubtless 
she had been carried to a distance by the current 
of the river. The oarsmen rowed on ; their 
monotonous chant had a lulling effect. A 
drowsy influence crept over Don Fernando. 
Objects swam before his eyes. The oarsmen 



4i4 Stories anfc Xe^enos 



assumed odd shapes as in a dream. The grand 
chamberlain grew larger and larger, and taller 
and taller. He took off his huge sombrero, 
and held it over the head of Don Fernando, 
like an extinguisher over a candle. The latter 
cowered beneath it ; he felt himself sinking in 
the socket. 

"Good night! Senor Adalantado of the 
Seven Cities ! ' ' said the grand chamberlain. 

The sombrero slowly descended — Don Fer- 
nando was extinguished ! 

How long he remained extinct no mortal 
man can tell. When he returned to conscious- 
ness, he found himself in a strange cabin, sur- 
rounded by strangers. He rubbed his eyes, 
and looked round him wildly. Where was 
he? — On board a Portuguese ship, bound to 
Iyisbon. How came he there ? — He had been 
taken senseless from a wreck drifting about 
the ocean. 

Don Fernando was more and more con- 
founded and perplexed. He recalled, one by 
one, everything that had happened to him in 
the Island of the Seven Cities, until he had 
been extinguished by the sombrero of the 
grand chamberlain. But what had happened 
to him since ? What had become of his car- 
avel ? Was it the wreck of her on which he 
had been found floating ? 



XLbc Boalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 415 



The people about him could give no infor- 
mation on the subject. He entreated them to 
take him to the Island of the Seven Cities, 
which could not be far off; told them all that 
had befallen him there ; that he had but to land 
to be received as Adalantado ; when he would 
reward them magnificently for their services. 

They regarded his words as the ravings of 
delirium, and in their honest solicitude for the 
restoration of his reason, administered such 
rough remedies that he was fain to drop the 
subject and observe a cautious taciturnity. 

At length they arrived in the Tagus, and 
anchored before the famous city of Iyisbon. 
Don Fernando sprang joyfully on shore, and 
hastened to his ancestral mansion. A strange 
porter opened the door, who knew nothing of 
him or his family ; no people of the name had 
inhabited the house for many a year. 

He sought the mansion of Don Ramiro. 
He approached the balcony beneath which he 
had bidden farewell to Serafina. Did his eyes 
deceive him ? No ! There was Serafina her- 
self among the flowers in the balcony. He 
raised his arms toward her with an exclama- 
tion of rapture. She cast upon him a look of 
indignation, and, hastily retiring, closed the 
casement with a slam that testified her dis- 
pleasure. 



416 Stories and XegenDs 



Could she have heard of his flirtation with 
the alcayde's daughter? But that was mere 
transient gallantry. A moment's interview 
would dispel every doubt of his constancy. 

He rang at the door ; as it was opened by 
the porter he rushed up-stairs ; sought the 
well-known chamber, and threw himself at the 
feet of Serafina. She started back with af- 
fright, and took refuge in the arms of a youth- 
ful cavalier. 

" What mean you, Senor," cried the latter, 
11 by this intrusion ? " 

1 ' What right have you to ask the question ? ' ' 
demanded Don Fernando fiercely. 

' ' The right of an affianced suitor ! ' ' 

Don Fernando started and turned pale. 
" Oh, Serafina ! Serafina ! " cried he, in a tone 
of agony ; "is this thy plighted constancy ? ' ' 

"Serafina? What mean you by Serafina, 
Senor? If this be the lady you intend, her 
name is Maria." 

1 ' May I not believe my senses ? May I not 
believe my heart ? ' ' cried Don Fernando. ' ' Is 
not this Serafina Alvarez, the original of yon 
portrait, which, less fickle than herself, still 
smiles on me from the wall ? ' ' 

' ' Holy Virgin ! ' ' cried the young lady, cast- 
ing her eyes upon the portrait. " He is talk- 
ing of my great-grand mother ! ' ' 



Gbe Boalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 417 



An explanation ensued, if that could be 
called an explanation which plunged the un- 
fortunate Fernando into tenfold perplexity. 
If he might believe his eyes, he saw before 
him his beloved Serafina ; if he might believe 
his ears, it was merely her hereditary form 
and features, perpetuated in the person of her 
great-granddaughter . 

His brain began to spin. He sought the 
office of the Minister of Marine, and made a 
report of his expedition, and of the Island of 
the Seven Cities, which he had so fortunately 
discovered. Nobody knew anything of such 
an expedition, or such an island. He declared 
that he had undertaken the enterprise under a 
formal contract with the crown, and had re- 
ceived a regular commission, constituting him 
Adalantado. This must be matter of record, 
and he insisted loudly that the books of the 
department should be consulted. The wordy 
strife at length attracted the attention of an 
old gray-headed clerk, who sat perched on a 
high stool, at a high desk, with iron-rimmed 
spectacles on the top of a thin, pinched nose, 
copying records into an enormous folio. He 
had wintered and summered in the department 
for a great part of a century, until he had al- 
most grown to be a piece of the desk at which 
he sat ; his memory was a mere index of offi- 



418 Stories and Xegenos 



cial facts and documents, and his brain was 
little better than red tape and parchment. 
After peering down for a time from his lofty 
perch, and ascertaining the matter in contro- 
versy, he put his pen behind his ear, and de- 
scended. He remembered to have heard 
something from his predecessor about an ex- 
pedition of the kind in question, but then it 
had sailed during the reign of Don loam II., 
and he had been dead at least a hundred years. 
To put the matter beyond dispute, however, 
the archives of the Torre do Tombo, that 
sepulchre of old Portuguese documents, were 
diligently searched, and a record was found of 
a contract between the crown and one Fer- 
nando de Ulmo, for the discovery of the Island 
of the Seven Cities, and of a commission se- 
cured to him as Adalantado of the country he 
might discover. 

"There!" cried Don Fernando, triumph- 
antly, "there you have proof, before your 
own eyes, of what I have said. I am the 
Fernando de Ulmo specified in that record. 
I have discovered the Island of the Seven 
Cities, and am entitled to be Adalantado, 
according to contract. ' ' 

The story of Don Fernando had certainly, 
what is pronounced the best of historical 
foundation, documentary evidence ; but when 



XLhc Soalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 419 



a man, in the bloom of youth, talked of events 
that had taken place above a century previ- 
ously, as having happened to himself, it is no 
wonder that he was set down for a madman. 

The old clerk looked at him from above 
and below his spectacles, shrugged his shoul- 
ders, stroked his chin, reascended his lofty 
stool, took the pen from behind his ears, and 
resumed his daily and eternal task, copying 
records into the fiftieth volume of a series of 
gigantic folios. The other clerks winked at 
each other shrewdly, and dispersed to their 
several places, and poor Don Fernando, thus 
left to himself, flung out of the office, almost 
driven wild by these repeated perplexities. 

In the confusion of his mind, he instinctively 
repaired to the mansion of Alvarez, but it was 
barred against him. To break the delusion 
under which the youth apparently labored, 
and to convince him that the Serafina about 
whom he raved was really dead, he was con- 
ducted to her tomb. There she lay, a stately 
matron, cut out in alabaster ; and there lay 
her husband beside her ; a portly cavalier, in 
armor ; and there knelt, on each side, the 
effigies of a numerous progeny, proving that 
she had been a fruitful vine. Even the very 
monument gave evidence of the lapse of time ; 
the hands of her husband, folded as if in 



42o Stories ano Xe^enos 



prayer, had lost their fingers, and the face of 
the once lovely Serafina was without a nose. 

Don Fernando felt a transient glow of indig- 
nation at beholding this monumental proof 
of the inconstancy of his mistress ; but who 
could expect a mistress to remain constant 
during a whole century of absence? And 
what right had he to rail about constancy, 
after what had passed between himself and 
the alcayde's daughter? The unfortunate 
cavalier performed one pious act of tender 
devotion ; he had the alabaster nose of Sera- 
fina restored by a skilful statuary, and then 
tore himself from the tomb. 

He could now no longer doubt the fact that, 
somehow or other, he had skipped over a 
whole century during the night he had spent 
at the Island of the Seven Cities ; and he was 
now as complete a stranger in his native city, 
as if he had never been there. A thousand 
times did he wish himself back to that wonder- 
ful island, with its antiquated banquet halls, 
where he had been so courteously received ; 
and now that the once young and beautiful 
Serafina was nothing but a great-grandmother 
in marble, with generations of descendants, 
a thousand times would he recall the melting 
black eyes of the alcayde's daughter, who 
doubtless, like himself, was still flourishing 



Cbe Soalantaoo of tbe Seven Cities 421 



in fresh juvenility, and breathe a secret wish 
that he was seated by her side. 

He would at once have set on foot another 
expedition, at his own expense, to cruise in 
search of the sainted island, but his means 
were exhausted. He endeavored to rouse 
others to the enterprise, setting forth the 
certainty of profitable results, of which his 
own experience furnished such unquestionable 
proof. Alas ! no one would give faith to his 
tale ; but looked upon it as the feverish dream 
of a shipwrecked man. He persisted in his 
efforts ; holding forth in all places and all 
companies, until he became an object of jest 
and jeer to the light-minded, who mistook his 
earnest enthusiasm for a proof of insanity ; 
and the very children in the streets bantered 
him with the title of "The Adalantado of 
the Seven Cities." 

Finding all efforts in vain, in his native city 
of Lisbon, he took shipping for the Canaries, 
as being nearer the latitude of his former cruise, 
and inhabited by people given to nautical 
adventure. Here he found ready listeners to 
his story ; for the old pilots and mariners of 
those parts were notorious island-hunters, and 
devout believers in all the wonders of the seas. 
Indeed, one and all treated his adventure as a 
common occurrence, and turning to each other, 



422 



Stories and Xegenos 



with a sagacious nod of the head, observed, 
" He has been at the Island of St. Brandan." 

They then went on to inform him of that 
great marvel and enigma of the ocean ; of its 
repeated appearance to the inhabitants of their 
islands ; and of the many but ineffectual expe- 
ditions that had been made in search of it. 
They took him to a promontory of the island 
of Palm a, whence the shadowy St. Brandan 
had oftenest been descried, and they pointed 
out the very tract in the west where its moun- 
tains had been seen. 

Don Fernando listened with rapt attention. 
He had no longer a doubt that this mysterious 
and fugacious island must be the same with 
that of the Seven Cities ; and that some super- 
natural influence connected with it had oper- 
ated upon himself, and made the events of a 
night occupy the space of a century. 

He endeavored, but in vain, to rouse the 
islanders to another attempt at discovery ; they 
had given up the phantom island as indeed in- 
accessible. Fernando, however, was not to be 
discouraged. The idea wore itself deeper and 
deeper in his mind, until it became the engross- 
ing subject of his thoughts and object of his 
being. Every morning he would repair to the 
promontory of Palma, and sit there throughout 
the livelong day, in hopes of seeing the fairy 



Gbe Hfcalantafco of tbe Seven Cities 423 



mountains of St. Brandan peering above the 
horizon ; every evening he returned to his 
home, a disappointed man, but ready to resume 
his post on the following morning. 

His assiduity was all in vain. He grew gray 
in his ineffectual attempt ; and was at length 
found dead at his post. His grave is still 
shown in the island of Palma, and a cross is 
erected on the spot where he used to sit and 
look out upon the sea, in hopes of the reappear- 
ance of the phantom island. 

Note. — For various particulars concerning 
the Island of St. Brandan and the Island of the 
Seven Cities, those ancient problems of the 
ocean, the curious reader is referred to articles 
under those heads in the Appendix to the 
"Life of Columbus." 

THE END. 



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